


our wide eyes burn blind

by Syrasha



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6310054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrasha/pseuds/Syrasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn raises an eyebrow, and Krem isn't sure if she's looking at him or the altus sitting right beside him. "You mean to tell me that Tevinter, this great evil monstrosity that I have been taught to fear before I could even walk, somehow didn't appreciate someone as positively delightful as you?"</p><p>Dorian scoffs. "No one has ever appreciated me as I deserve to be appreciated."</p><p>She sends a wicked smile Dorian's way, reserving a soft wink for Krem himself.</p><p>krem takes a spot at the inquisitor's side as bodyguard in place of the iron bull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. it's not typical

Krem considers himself pretty tough, and he doesn’t particularly think that’s an inflation of his own ego. He’s as good with a sword as anybody else, can take hits as well as he dishes them, and he’s second-in-command for the best mercenary company in Thedas (arguably).

Still, he doesn’t know if he could ever get used to this. Haven is _fucking_ freezing, the Herald walked into the Chantry hours ago (the requisitions officer said that she always heads straight for the war room after missions) and here he is, waiting outside. When he suggested to the Iron Bull that demons falling out of a goddamn rip in the sky was an issue for everyone if it got to escalate, Krem didn’t mean to get himself sent as a messenger.

“Look, Krem, a Qunari can’t just go strolling into the territory of the Herald of Andraste,” the Chief had said.

“Oh, yes, sending a Tevinter looks loads better.” Krem hadn’t rolled his eyes, but he’d put every bit of the sarcasm.

“Look,” Bull said dismissively, “It’s you or Dalish, and I think we can both agree that a Dalish elf is the _least_ suited for the job.”

So Krem had bit back a groan and done it, because Bull had a point; Dalish was the least likely to convince the Inquisition of the Chargers’ worth. That didn’t change facts, though. Haven is like an icebox. Eventually, after much contemplation, Krem decides that being branded a heretic beats standing out in this cold another moment, and at least once he’s inside the Chantry the wind isn’t blowing down his back, even if it’s because Andraste herself is probably glaring daggers into his soul. He’s breathing a sigh of relief so heavy that it shakes his whole body, and in the moment that Krem decides he would rather be smote by holy fire than go back out into the cold one more minute, they emerge from the doors at the end of the hall.

Krem knows instinctively that this must be the leadership of the Inquisition, from little else than what a motley crew they are. The woman in yellow sticks out like a sore thumb, an Antivan in dress and tongue alone, chittering almost as quickly as she’s writing.

“Please, Herald, I would not call Val Royeaux a victory. I understand your eagerness to meet with the mages-”

“But there is no reason the templars would not be just as viable an option.” That comes from the lone man in the group, a blond who grasps the pommel of his sword like a crutch, and the woman in armor scoffs.

“Enough. This squabbling gets us nowhere.” Her hair is short and her accent is thick, and the shield strapped to her back is enough to make any hardened warrior jealous.

The woman in purple stays silent, but the final participant nods. “I agree with the seeker. Squabbling about this accomplishes nothing and while I understand your concerns and your prior affiliations, Cullen, I want you to know that I harbor little love for either templars or rebel mages.”

The man looks unsatisfied, but grunts in assent. The Antivan woman retreats to a room directly next to the war room itself, while the man (Cullen?), the woman in armor, the silent woman in purple breeze past Krem back out into the bitter cold. Krem is briefly glad that he’s positioned himself off to the side of the corridor.

The final woman sighs in a way not completely unlike how Krem had moments before upon taking refuge from the cold, and as she stretches her hands above her head in a full-body relief of tension, Krem sees a spark of green light, that makes him a little less skeptical about this whole trip up the frozen ass of Orlais.

She’s mumbling a bit to herself, staring at the green mark in as much bewilderment as Krem feels, and Krem clears his throat to get her attention. It doesn’t work though, and the Chantry mother who has noticed him begins to chuckle.

“Lady Herald,” the dark-skinned woman says, and she jumps from her reverie. “I believe there’s a young man here to speak with you.”

Krem hears something that sounds suspiciously like, “There’s always someone here to speak with me,” but then the Herald of Andraste turns to him. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s more a question of what we can do for you,” Krem says without missing a beat. “I’m here to offer you the services of the Bull’s Chargers.”

“Services?” The Herald’s eyes light up playfully, and Krem backpedals a bit.

“We’re a mercenary company, active across Orlais, Nevarra, Ferelden and the Free Marches.”

The light dies a bit in her eyes, and she cocks her head a bit to the side. “We’re fighting a holy war,” she says, though she makes no mention of her own role in it. “What makes you think we need a band of mercenaries?”

“Ask anywhere. We come highly recommended. We’re expensive, but I know the Inquisition can afford us, and most of all, we’re loyal.” She still looks skeptical, so he tacks on an addendum. “You can find us in action on the Storm Coast, if you want to see what we can do before dropping any coin. You’ll hear us before you see us; just follow the sound of a bellowing Qunari.”

“Qunari?” Her ears perk up. “You have me intrigued at the very least.” Krem can see the gears turning in her head, though he’s not sure where they’re going, and he certainly isn’t sure why an Andrastian would be so interested in a Qunari. “How big is your company?”

“Small. We’re specialized, and we work best as shock troops and skirmishers.”

“Hmm.” She taps her fingers to her mouth thoughtfully, eyes turned up towards the ceiling. “My name is Evelyn Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste, and perhaps you will see me soon on the Storm Coast.”

“Krem, my Lady Herald,” Krem answers, and stoops low, although that doesn’t stop the puzzlement on her face.

“Just Krem?”

“Well, Cremisius Aclassi.” If she is so excited to have a Qunari playing on her team, she probably won’t mind how Tevinter his name sounds.

Evelyn grimaces. “Oh my. Stick with Krem. I don’t blame you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yes! i've almost finished my deacon fic so it's time to begin a whole new roller coaster!  
> a note that i think is important: i'm cis so it's super important to me that if i say something gross you call me out on it. the last thing i want is to make this space anything but safe.
> 
> if you take offense to anything you can post a comment here or shoot me a message at battlemastershepard.tumblr.com
> 
> you can also spray me with cold water


	2. pray to a god

The next time Krem sees the Herald, she is a force of nature, lightning crackling in the air around her. Krem doesn’t notice it very much until a bolt comes down from the sky to strike the archer he is advancing towards. It’s hard not to notice her then, staff an extension of her body, and when Krem looks her way, she spares him a cheeky grin that he can’t help but return. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and she’s a little like the Chief, Krem notes, not a little amusedly. Anyone who is anything like the Iron Bull is worth following, so it makes sense that the Inquisition is rallying around her, especially as he’s watching her dark hair fly in the wind as the waves crash out at sea.

Even without the mark on her hand, she might just have been someone worth following anyway.

Evelyn is traveling with the warrior from the war room, that no-nonsense woman with the thick accent, as well as two elves, one letting arrows fly with a laugh every time one hit, and the other a mage who has composure unlike anything Krem has seen. Still, this ragtag team of soldiers is tearing apart the opposition with just as much efficiency as the Chargers, and even if they have a warrior among them, Evelyn is still right in the middle of the fray.

“You didn’t tell me she could beat your ass, Krem,” Bull says, and Krem turns to him just in time for some blood spatter to spurt up into his face. Bull laughs as he slices into the last zealot a final time, and Krem is trying not to vomit at the feeling. No matter how battle-hardened, warm blood on his face was never something he got used to.

“Just didn’t want you to feel threatened, Chief,” Krem mumbles, a little under his breath, trying not to get any more blood in his mouth than is already there.

The Bull reacts to the victory like he always does; a little alcohol and then a lot of alcohol. Krem barely gets the word “cask” out before Grim is taking an axe to the first. The Herald pats his shoulder before sauntering over to the Bull, who insists she take a seat. He always negotiates best under the influence of alcohol.

Krem serves himself last and settles in beside Dalish, who is sitting with her back to some tree stump that looks a little out of place on the shore. Dalish’s “bow” is resting across her upper legs, and she’s one of the more reserved members of the band, but she’s being quiet nonetheless.

“What’s on your mind, Dalish? All that archery take it out of you?”

Dalish chuckles, scratching the tip of her left ear. “It’s probably stupid anyhow,” Dalish says, but she acts like she wants to continue, so Krem waits. “I mean, you’re from Tevinter anyway, so maybe you’ll get it. I’m Dalish. We’ve got our own gods. Just because I don’t have a clan anymore doesn’t mean I’m not. If this is all real, I don’t know what it means for me.” She runs a finger over the tattoo on her right cheek. “Herald of Andraste, huh? Guess we’ll see. Long as we get paid, I suppose it doesn’t matter to me.”

And it looks like they are going to get paid, if the Chief’s deep chuckle is any indicator. “Krem!” Bull shouts, turning to where he’s relaxing with Dalish. Krem scrambles to his feet, a little slower than he might have, the few sips of whatever shit Bull has them drinking taking its toll. “Pack up the drink! We just got hired!”

“But we opened all the casks! With axes!” Krem shouts even as the rest of the crew is cheering, and it’s a little like a whine, and Dalish laughs beside him. Bull is motioning him over, and Krem groans a bit, and Krem motions in turn for Grim and Dalish to figure something (anything?) out about all this alcohol.

When Krem finally gets over to Bull and Evelyn, they are shaking hands, and the Chief is saying, “Consider the Chargers completely at your disposal, and Krem here as personal insurance.”

Krem balks. “Excuse me?”

Evelyn’s eyes are dancing wildly. “If I’d known I was getting such a deal, you could’ve hiked your price up.”

Bull laughs, a chortle from deep within his chest. “Don’t feel guilty about increasing our pay, if that’s what you mean. Krem’s the best of us: fiercely loyal, tough in a fight, and not too much of an eyesore to look at.”

“But Chief –“ Krem starts, but Bull speaks over him.

“He’s yours as long as you’ll have us,” Bull says, and it’s a little pointed.

Krem’s eyebrow twitches involuntarily because _a heads up at least would have been nice, Chief, especially when I was the one who made our case to the Herald_.

“You lot can make your way to Haven,” Evelyn says, looking amused at the nonverbal, one-sided communication that Krem is trying to have with Bull. “I won’t make you come with us, Krem, but I assure you – time with me is never dull.”

“Less talking and more shooting whenever Her Gracious Ladybits is around,” says the blonde elf, and Krem chuckles a bit at that, though the other elf shakes his head in exasperation.

“My arm is yours whenever you’ll have me, Lady Herald,” he says, still a bit unsure of the arrangement but unwilling to second-guess the Chief any more than he already has.

“Don’t say things you’ll regret, Krem.” Evelyn smiles, and Krem can feel the blush creeping up his armor, nodding stoically.

The Herald gathers her company and walks away, and as Krem watches them go, he hears Bull behind him. “Eyes in sockets, Krem. You’ll have plenty of time to watch her back later.”

Krem rolls his eyes, but says, “You could have given me a bit of warning, Chief.”

“Would have, but you were too busy getting cozy with Dalish. Second we opened the drink you skittered away.”

“Sure. Just hope you know what you’re getting us into.”

Bull blinks at him with his one good eye. “What are you talking about? Getting into this debacle was completely your idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi yes here's an update thank u!  
> @battlemastershepard.tumblr.com


	3. it's a little blurry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HI. if you read the previous chapter 3 i apologize because i reread it and realized that i really REALLY hated it so it's been deleted and replaced with something i like way more and is paced in a much more natural way anyway thanks sorry for being trash ily

 

A small, optimistic part of Krem hopes beyond all hope that maybe, with luck, Haven isn’t as cold as he remembers. He is, of course, wrong. Haven is just as cold as he remembers, and, today, it is snowing. Krem hates the snow. It chills the metal of his armor and no number of layers underneath seem to keep him warm.

He’s very thankful when Evelyn decides he is invited along on her excursion to the Hinterlands, less because he wants to prove his worth and more because he wants to get out of the godforsaken cold. The group looks even more motley than the Chargers once they assemble.

“You can’t tell me this doesn’t look like a bad joke, Flash,” Varric says, and Krem is inclined to agree. “Think about it. A Red Jenny, a Tevinter merc, the Herald of Andraste, and Varric Tethras walk into a bar…”

Krem chuckles. “The most terrifying thing about that joke is that a Tevinter merc is just as outrageous as Varric Tethras.”

The Herald is quiet but spares them a chuckle no less, holding herself on the horse the way that only nobles know how. Almost immediately upon entering Haven, Bull had started gathering intel, and whatever he gleaned about their situation, he filled Krem in, at least when it was relevant.

“Boss is noble, though you wouldn’t know it from the way she slums it with the Inquisition,” Bull had said, and Krem remembers nodding. “Trevelyans are a respected family in the Free Marches, Andrastian to the extreme, in tight with the Chantry. Not sure on specifics, but Boss didn’t seem too rage-filled upon seeing me or you, so maybe she’s more moderate.”

Evelyn’s posture is really the only noble thing about her, Krem thinks, as she listens to Sera prattle on about some decidedly vulgar story. At least, it’s the only thing that seems noble so far, and she’s travelling with an elf, a dwarf, and Krem himself. Combined with the fact that she’s a mage, Krem wonders how she gets on with her family.

Krem shakes his head, and decides to leave the speculating for when they return to Haven.

“Why do you call her Flash?” Krem asks Varric, unsure how to address a minor celebrity, especially when they are more or less riding into battle side by side.

Varric laughs. “Seen how the air crackles around her? Even if she wasn’t a mage, her temper still acts like a flash of lightning.”  


“That volatile?” Krem asks, and Varric laughs again, a little louder this time, but Sera and Evelyn are far ahead and so absorbed in their own conversation that neither of them notice.

“We were in Redcliffe to meet with Fiona the last time we were out, and Flash’s temper nearly got us thrown out. We didn’t even get a chance to see Fiona.” Varric scratches his cheek, though Krem thinks it probably can’t be very effective through the gloves he’s wearing. Shaking his head, Varric says, “So we’re down walking by the water, just getting a feel for the town, and Flash seems like she’s kind of taking in the atmosphere, when she overhears a man who seems pretty distressed.”

Sera and Evelyn are starting to pull away from them, so Varric and Krem pick up the pace a bit while Varric continues his story. “Anyway, so we track the voice down, and belongs to this elf, real old elf. Flash asks him what’s wrong, and he’s a little skeptical, like _why would a human want to help me_ skeptical, but eventually he tells her he’s a widower, and that all the mage-templar fighting has kept him from leaving flowers at his wife’s shrine. He’s telling this story and getting a little choked up as he goes on, and the longer the story gets, the angrier Flash gets. She offers to take the flowers for him, and he agrees, which means he’s a little braver than I am, because lightning’s got her hair in a tizzy and some stray static is shocking the Seeker, and Cassandra’s trying not to show that it’s happening because she doesn’t want to undermine Flash’s sincerity. At this point, guards are eyeing us because they don’t know that the Seeker is perfectly qualified to keep us all in our place, thinking they’re going to have to take down this rogue mage.”

Varric pauses for a moment as Redcliffe starts to appear on the horizon. “Anyway, as soon as we’re out of town she lets loose this ball of just raw energy, and it tears through about three trees. Cassandra grabs Flash’s wrist and gives her a stern talking-to about discipline, but comprehension and a lesson were the last things on Flash’s mind. We tore through three mages and four Templars before we made it to the shrine, and when we got there, Herald spent another half hour setting up wards for the shrine, mumbling under her breath the whole time about how there was no justice in punishing an old man.”

Varric sighed. “Sera was the only one able to talk her down, saying being angry was alright, but getting even and helping little people was better.”

Looking at Evelyn now, head tossed back in laughter and flicking Sera’s nose goodnaturedly as they dismounted, it’s hard for Krem to imagine her being anything but kind (which is really stupid; he’s not that naïve). She walks side-by-side with Sera instead of a step ahead, and Sera is the member of Evelyn’s inner circle most people look down on, even more so than Solas.

“Anyway,” Varric says, “That’s why we’re back in Redcliffe. To give that guy the good news and to actually meet with Fiona for real this time. Between you and me, I think we also skimmed over meeting with Fiona because Flash was a little nervous about taking Cassandra with her.”

“Suppose that makes sense,” Krem says.

“You gonna give that guy the good news or what?” Sera asks Evelyn as Krem and Varric finally catch up to them.

A soft smile rises to Evelyn’s lips. “Part of me wants to save it until after the horrific encounter we’re probably going to have with Fiona. I wasn’t a huge fan of the rebellion, you know.”

Varric snorts. “Like in the same way I’m not, ‘a big fan of caves,’ Flash?”

Evelyn’s cheeks go a little red in a way that Krem might call sweet. “Fair enough, Varric.”

The man’s standing next to a stone bench, seemingly at peace but with a bit of sadness underneath that Krem recognizes as resignation. When he sees Evelyn, though, his eyes light up. “You came back. I thought for sure I wouldn’t see you again.”

“I promised you I’d take the flowers to the shrine, didn’t I?” Evelyn gives the man a soft smile. “It was a lovely little bit of sanctuary.”

The widower smiles sadly, but it’s easy to see that he’s grateful too. “ _She_ was my little bit of sanctuary.”

Evelyn speaks up again. “I put wards up for you there. It was never my strong suit in magic, and I had no one with me who was better, but they should at least protect her resting place for awhile, until these fools calm down.”

The tears that rise to the man’s eyes are real, and Krem catches himself in a soft smile. “Thank you,” the elf says, “My wife and I are not Dalish, but we tried very hard to keep to the old ways. I don’t know if you are holy or not, but that you would take time to help an old elf speaks well of your Andraste.”

Evelyn looks a little uncomfortable at that, and Krem remembers what Bull had told him – _pious family, more or less married to the Chantry_ – and it suddenly seems clear that she’s not quite as devout as the Trevelyans’ reputation.

Still the old man continues. “ _Dareth shiral_ , Your Worship.”

When he titles her, it is not out of resonance but gratitude, and when Evelyn takes her leave, Sera nudges her shoulder. “See?” Sera says, “Help the little people. Feels good, yeah?”

Evelyn punches Sera’s shoulder lightly, grinning. “As if I’d _ever_ give you the gratification of being right.”

Krem chuckles. “You sound like the Chief.”

Evelyn smiles at him as they approach the tavern. “I might sound like him, but I’m far more attractive, right, Krem?”

That stops Krem fast for a moment, and he can tell that Varric is waiting for the witty comeback that Krem had meant to have lined up. The flirtation has caught him off guard, but he manages, “Don’t know, Boss. I’d have to see you without your shirt to make the judgment fair.”

Sera’s laughter is wild while Evelyn’s is hidden behind her hand, a noble’s laugh, and even Varric gives him a chuckle. “Not bad, kid,” Varric says, “Might just call you Silver, if your tongue is that quick all the time.”

Krem doesn’t think Sera and Varric notice, but the pink has crept back into her cheeks in just the slightest way, and if it brings a smile to his face, it is absolutely only because he has proven he gives as good as he gets. He only gets to see it on her face for a moment before she shushes all of them and crosses the threshold into the Gull and Lantern, no longer Evelyn, but the Herald instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope that was better! thanks for reading!! xx  
> @battlemastershepard.tumblr.com


	4. double bubble

Taverns are comfortable for Krem. They’re poorly lit, flowing with alcohol, and usually nobody cares where you’re from so long as you have money. The Gull and Lantern has all the aspects of a tavern that Krem likes, notwithstanding why they’re there, to meet with the woman who singlehandedly made all southern mages apostates. Evelyn, who had been all smiles only moments before, has set her jaw hard, ready for business. Her staff is strapped to her back in that weird way that seems to be a mage’s trade secret, and she is captivatingly dangerous looking.

Varric’s story about the lightning crackling around her is true, or at least it has tricked Krem into feeling it anyway. Krem, Varric, and Sera are trailing behind her, and when Evelyn turns to the side, Krem can’t help but notice that her nose turns up a little more than average, silhouetted by the lamps lighting the Gull and Lantern. It’s a far cry from Varric’s nose, and even his own; Varric’s, especially, looks like it’s been broken longer than it’s ever been whole. Evelyn’s nose looks fragile, graceful, and when Krem remembers that it’s because she has spent most of her life locked away in a tower until the rebellion, he isn’t sure what to feel. Should he be thankful that Evelyn’s Circle preserved such delicate purity? Or is the Circle to blame for the fact that that nose has never even had the chance to be broken?

Krem doesn’t know, but his hand has drifted to the pommel of his sword, on edge because the boss is. Beautiful nose or not, Evelyn (or her organization; whatever) is paying him, so bodyguard he’ll be. It doesn’t hurt that she’s more than nice to look at, a perk he hadn’t signed up for but was grateful for anyway.

When Fiona greets them, it is reserved, unlike the almost-desperation Evelyn had described her as having back in Val Royeaux.

“Herald. It is a delight to welcome you to Redcliffe, though I must say your presence is unexpected.”

Krem locks eyes with Varric, whose eyebrows are raised in surprise.

“Unexpected?” Evelyn appears unruffled but her voice betrays her nonetheless. “You invited us here. We met in Val Royeaux. You might recall that I was very uncomfortable talking to you.”

“What?” Fiona’s brow scrunches in confusion that seems genuine. “Now that you mention it… I feel… strange.” Fiona cuts herself off before continuing, shaking her head. “It is no matter. I no longer have the agency to negotiate on behalf of the mages here.”

Evelyn’s calmness is forced, now, and Krem’s hand is still on his sword, resting a little heavier, ready to react. “Then, _please_ , Fiona,” Evelyn says through teeth she’s trying not to grit, “tell me who is qualified to speak with me.”

“Of… of course, Herald. The mages are now in servitude to Magister Gereon Alexius of the Imperium.”

Evelyn looks at Krem as a reflex, and Krem purses his lips. _Like I have a single goddamned clue more than you do what’s going on here._ Hell, she only even knows he’s Tevinter from his name; Krem looks a little like it, but no one would place him on skin color alone, really.

“Do I look like I know anything about magisters to you, Your Worship?” Krem asks dryly, and Evelyn manages half of a smirk.

Alexius, upon his entrance, is intimidating, and Krem doesn’t think he’s imagining the shiver that runs down Evelyn’s neck at his appearance. Sera grips the fabric of her pants so that it bunches up off her ankle, clearly nervous herself, and Varric’s eyes are shifty though to anyone else he might appear the same apathetic dwarf as usual. There is another, younger man, one who doesn’t immediately instill dread in Krem, who enters as well.

When Evelyn introduces herself to Alexius, there is none of the electricity that can usually be felt around her. Her voice is only ice.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, ser?” Evelyn’s words are chilly, but Krem doesn’t think he’s imagining the sparks flying around her not-holy hand.

“The rebel mages have indentured themselves to the Imperium in an effort to regain their own agency. Had I known such an alliance would have allowed me to meet one so regaled as yourself, I might have been even more enthusiastic. I am Magister Gereon Alexius, and this is my son, Felix.”

Felix bows as he is introduced. Evelyn has eyes only for Alexius, but Krem can see the shame color Fiona’s face. The Grand Enchanter is standing rigid with her face turned towards the floor, the look of someone who has lost a war and is trying to save what little face they have left.

“So is it with you that I discuss the fate of the world, then?”

Alexius chuckles. “And they say that Tevinter has a flair for the dramatic. What a charming little figurehead you are.”

Evelyn’s cool is slipping; the sparks around her hand are growing larger, crackling. When she opens her mouth to speak again, Krem steps forward. “Your Worship,” he says, touching her arm lightly. Evelyn whips around, eyes wide with surprise, distrust, and anger. “I understand that the south does not think well of my people, but as I think I’ve shown, we can be useful allies, if you let us.”

She doesn’t seem to follow his train of thought completely, but his ruse works. The lightning dissipates, though Krem can still feel the heat on his hand from where he touched her. He’s pretty sure that’s the magic. Pretty sure.

“Ah!” Alexius says, “Forgive me for not recognizing one of my countrymen. What brings you so far from the Imperium?”

“The opportunities for a _soporati_ are few and far between back home, ser. I make my work as a mercenary.” It’s something he wouldn’t have dared say a few years ago, but he’s standing here with the Herald of Andraste, and Krem is feeling a little bold.

Alexius looks thoughtful, and opens his mouth as if to speak again before Felix’s body becomes unsteady. Krem steps forward to catch him, but Evelyn is there first. Krem briefly wonders how she is able to hold him up with those skinny mage arms, but Alexius is by Felix’s side so quickly that she doesn’t have to for very long.

“Felix, Felix, are you alright?” he asks his son, and without waiting for an answer, continues. “You’ll have to excuse me, Herald. I would be delighted to talk further with the Inquisition, but for now, I must see to my son.”

“But-” Sera pipes up as Alexius leads Felix away, Fiona in tow, but Evelyn dismisses whatever objection she may have had with a wave of her hand. “Look here now, you don’t get to just _shush_ me just because you’ve got a spooky green hand!”

“No, Sera, he left a note for us. Says to meet someone in the Chantry, that we’re in danger.”

Varric chortles at that. “Us? In danger? However will we cope with this departure from routine?”

“We’ll go shortly.”

“It could be a trap,” Krem offers, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news but feeling obligated to get it out in the open.

“Maybe, but it’s the only lead we’ve got,” she says, and as Sera and Varric walk ahead, Evelyn looks at him. A childlike part of Krem wants to shrink under her gaze. “And what was up with that back there? I had things under control, Krem. Bodyguard is not the same as babysitter.”

Krem’s eyes widen; she’s scolding him for this? “Did you _see_ your hand, Your Worship?”

Evelyn rolls her eyes. “Green, glowing? Closes fade rifts? Got me into this wretched mess?”

Krem mirrors her. “No, the _other_ one. You looked like you were about to start sparking lightning any minute.”

Her mood breaks, and Evelyn looks confused. “What?”

Krem doesn’t say anything else, but Evelyn looks at the hand without the mark on it a little sadly. “I hadn’t even noticed I was losing control. Vivienne would’ve ripped me apart.” Evelyn sighs. “I know you’re from Tevinter, so I don’t know how much you know about mages down here, but it was hard for me not to look at him and think of how what people like him have done have affected mages like me. I’m scared of being an abomination, and he’s probably thinking about who he’s going to use for his next batch of blood magic.”

Krem wrinkles his nose at that. “It’s not exactly a utopia, but it’s not complete anarchy either.”

Evelyn laughs softly. “I suppose it does sound like that, now that I actually say it out loud. It doesn’t matter. It’s what they taught me in the Circle. It’s why they told me I had to _stay_ in a Circle.” Evelyn is pensive for a moment before shaking her head. “Regardless, thank you, Krem. We’d better head to the Chantry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i hope you guys are enjoying krem is so great i love him  
> join me at battlemastershepard.tumblr.com for your regularly scheduled self-loathing


	5. wave after wave

Dorian is a reminder of a Tevinter that Krem has almost forgotten, flashy spells and gaudy baubles. All in all, he seems alright, but Evelyn is nervous about trusting him. After her speech about Alexius, that really doesn’t surprise him. As for Krem himself, striking down Alexius was a little more cathartic than he thought it would be; still, he’s a little worried about Evelyn. She’s been scarce since they’ve returned from Redcliffe, holed up in the Chantry with her advisors and Cassandra. Varric had asked if she was okay on the return trip, and she had shrugged him off, but Krem had heard her whispering with Dorian about “time travel.”

Time travel was the kind of thing that even _Tevinter_ wasn’t usually crazy enough to try.

Bull’s Chargers are stationed in tents just outside of Haven’s walls, but Krem spends as much time as humanly possible not outside. The cold is becoming tolerable, but tolerable is not comfortable, and Flissa at the tavern is always happy to see him. It’s a regular haunt for many of the Herald’s inner circle: Sera seems most at home in a tavern, when Blackwall isn’t at the smithy he’s here, and Dorian is about as adjusted to this frozen waste as Krem is.

One person who is never seen at the tavern is Evelyn, so when Krem takes a solitary seat at a table, he doesn’t expect the stranger who slides in across from him. They’re in a coat that’s far too thin for Krem’s use, and gloves that are about three layers thicker, face concealed by the shadow of a hood that’s a little like Leliana’s. Krem raises an eyebrow, and –

“What would you recommend for a sheltered Circle mage, Krem?”

What Evelyn is doing here, and why she is dressed like this, is beyond him. “Your Worship?” he asks, a little cautiously, and she sighs. Krem shakes his head, but motions to Flissa. “Another one of these, ma’am.”

Flissa nods and speeds off, never writing a thing down but managing never to make a mistake either.

“Are you alright, Herald? Practicing your Leliana impression?”

Evelyn’s laugh jingles, and Krem thinks that he is at least successful in that. “If you say Leliana’s name three times, I hear that she appears before you out of a flock of conjured ravens.” When Flissa sets the mug down in front of Evelyn, she grasps it with both hands, nodding her thanks. “Truthfully, it’s exhausting being the Herald all the time. Even you call me ‘Your Worship,’ and I’m fairly certain Tevinter’s Chantry would think me heretical _at best_.”

“At best?” Krem scoffs. “Absolutely. But you’re a mage, at least, so they wouldn’t hold that against you.”

“Can you imagine?” The question seems mostly to herself. “Dorian seems so delighted to use his magic.”

Silence falls between them for a beat before Krem asks, “How aren’t you freezing to death?”

“I have a coat on.”

“I’m in seven layers and I can still feel it in my bones themselves, Your Worship.”

Evelyn grimaces, recoiling a little bit. “Look, Krem, as much as we’re paying you, the least you can do for me is call me literally anything other than that.”

“Herald.” Krem smirks at her, and when he sees a flicker of an eye roll, it turns into a real smile.

“It’ll do,” she says, and then groans, “Maker, I’m starting to sound like Cassandra.”

“Seriously, though, how have you not turned into ice where you sit?”

“Mage trade secret,” she says with a laugh that turns into a grimace the way it always does when she talks about her magic. “I can make my body run a little warmer than yours.” Krem raises his eyebrows in interest, but Evelyn mistakes it for distaste. “I apologize. You don’t want to hear about my magic, do you?”

“I don’t _not_ want to hear about your magic, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It makes a lot of non-mages uncomfortable here.”

“Herald,” Krem says, a little more earnestly than he means to, “You’ll have to do a lot worse than tell me your magic keeps you _warm_ to make me uncomfortable.”

Evelyn laughs a breathy little laugh that warms Krem like magic might. “To think, had I not been gifted with this blessing of a hand, we may never have been able to keep each other company. I will truly have to thank Bull for his foresight.”

They sit in a companionable quiet for several minutes, surrounded by the ambient noise of the tavern. Evelyn’s fingers are slender on her mug, gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping the Fade from ripping her away from the table. Her face is still shadowed by the hood, but Krem can make out her eyes just barely, dark as the hair she lets fly as free as the storm that is always around her. She is here but not here, Krem sees, like a volcano that could erupt at any moment and isn’t even aware.

“Herald?” Krem asks, a little quietly, and it isn’t enough to rise above the din of the tavern or reach behind her eyes. “Lady Trevelyan.” Evelyn snaps to attention at that, a conditioned response that Krem recognizes from his time in the military. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course, Krem. We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends who talk about seeing each other shirtless?” It’s a throwback to their conversation in the Hinterlands, one that earns her a full grin from him.

“What did you see? At Redcliffe?”

Her face darkens, the lightheartedness gone as she bows her head beneath the hood she’s wearing, and Krem regrets asking so soon after she finally sounded “normal” again. “Dorian hasn’t told you?” Evelyn asks softly.

“I haven’t asked Dorian.”

“I had doomed you.” He doesn’t really expect Evelyn to answer him so without reserve, but she does. “In a year, some _beast_ called the Elder One had managed to subjugate the mages, destroy the world as we know it, and hurt you all in ways I hadn’t even dreamed. And there was so, _so_ much red lyrium. And you. You…” Evelyn trails off. “You were so angry with me.”

“Why?” Krem is genuinely unsure of why he would be so furious.

“Because when we entered that rift that Alexius had opened, Dorian and I went a year into the future, and we left behind you, Leliana, Sera, _and_ Varric to suffer.” When Evelyn runs a hand through her hair it knocks the hood off, and Krem finds himself righting it before he can stop himself. He pulls the fabric back over her ears, and Krem doesn’t hear her breath catch when his fingers brush her cheeks. He stays a little closer than he should, feeling the static that is constantly in flux around her on his skin. “I’m sorry,” she says, and it’s barely above a whisper. “All this, and I actually came here to ask you another favor.”

“Herald, you’re paying me. They aren’t favors. It’s a duty.”

Evelyn chuckles at that. “Tomorrow they want me to try and close the Breach. With the mages on our side, Solas thinks we have a chance, and I don’t have any idea how this works.  Generally speaking my strategy was always to electrocute whatever the problem was until it wasn’t a problem anymore, so I think he’s a little more qualified.”

“You give yourself too little credit, Herald.”

“Krem,” Evelyn says, and her voice is warm, and briefly Krem wonders if maybe it’s magic that makes her sound so rich and inviting. “If we’re really friends, you can call me Evelyn. At least in private. Hell, you didn’t even ask me how this time travel business works.”

“We’re going to be having a lot more of these private talks, Evelyn?” Krem means it as a joke, but when he stumbles over her name, it sounds a lot less suave and a lot more eager.

“Keep saying my name like that and we just might,” Evelyn says, and there’s a wicked wink that she gives him that is a pretty healthy reminder of sin.

He clears his throat, a little more speechless than he’d like to admit. “I’ll be there tomorrow, Evelyn. Don’t kill any demons without me.”

She smiles, and it’s wide, with teeth and everything. “We won’t start without you, Krem.”

Evelyn stands from the table, mug forgotten, leaving a few coins for Flissa before smirking at Krem once more. “You know, Krem, it’s too bad we aren’t better friends. If we were, I could tell you that I certainly have enough magic for the both of us to keep warm.”

Krem ignores the different kind of warmth that spreads through him. “Oh, Evelyn. You always know _just_ what to say.”

That’s how he knows that they’re okay; when she leaves, the confident sway is back in her hips, almost as though it never left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops i fell off the face of the earth  
> i had finals and i worked a minute or two but well  
> my tumblr is battlemastershepard.tumblr.com thank you for reading i love these nerds


	6. you might knock me down

“Truly, darling, the only thing worthwhile that Tevinter has ever given to this world is your complexion.”

Vivienne is, in a word, terrifying, and her self-proclaimed loyalist tendencies still don’t set her too far apart from the kind of ambition that defines Tevinter – not that Krem would _ever_ say that to her face.

“From you, ma’am, any compliment is of the highest order,” Krem says, and Vivienne gives him a kind of half-smile that Krem isn’t sure if he should see as a threat or an invitation.

“Dorian, you could learn _so much_ from your compatriot.”

Dorian snorts in an entirely unmannered way, and Vivienne turns up her nose accordingly. How Krem found himself here, beneath the Breach, with Dorian and Vivienne on either side, is a little beyond him. Still, though, as the Herald stands there a level below him, the view isn’t bad. The only thing spoiling it is how unenthusiastic she was about this project the evening before in the tavern.

Evelyn stands ramrod straight, gazing into the Breach. She is bathed in a green glow that makes her look closer to the Fade than she is to Krem, and he isn’t more than twenty feet away from her. Krem isn’t sure what he will do if this all goes to hell in a handbasket, isn’t sure why Evelyn invited him here, what she expects him to do if things go south. All he can do when she looks back at him is send a smile her way, one she returns a little weakly.

Why he’s allowed to see this weakness is beyond him. He finds Evelyn completely qualified to be the Herald of Andraste; after all, she has held up this long without the entire operation crashing and burning.

Solas is speaking, and the mages (Evelyn included) are standing in rapt attention. “Mages! Focus your energy, with the Herald!”

Evelyn gives Krem one last glance, and Krem salutes her, fist across his chest, and her eyes narrow with determination. She turns resolutely towards the Breach, arm outstretched, and takes a step forward. Krem doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Dorian says, “You’ll be of no use to our dear Herald suffocated.”

The Breach pulses as she approaches it, and Krem feels like his blood can’t decide if it should go cold or hot. He’s never watched her close a rift before, but if Vivienne tensing next to him is any indicator, this is a little more dramatic than usual. The green light from her hand flares forward toward the rip in reality, and Evelyn’s steps stagger the closer that she gets. With a final lurch, and a grunted scream to go with it, the Breach is closed, and she falls to the ground – and Krem prays it’s only with exhaustion, then tells himself it's because he's worried about his paycheck.

Krem leaps down a level before his mind catches up with his body, and he is on the ground running. Cassandra beats him to Evelyn, but just barely, and Krem is by her side before she even tries sitting up.

“Herald? Herald.” Krem is checking her for injuries as Cassandra speaks, and Evelyn rouses. “You did it,” Cassandra says, breathless.

Evelyn blinks slowly at Krem before drowsily saying, “I’ll do this all the time if I get to wake up to someone so pretty.”

Cassandra groans with distaste, but all Krem can do is chuckle, and the crowd around them sends up a cheer into the air that is probably heard through half of Thedas.

* * *

Haven is bright and alive in a way that it hasn’t been since Krem arrived. This doesn’t change that Haven is freezing, but at least people are happy. The villagers have always been inspired by Evelyn, their Herald, their holy one, but keeping the faith was a full time job with the Breach still there in the sky.

To watch them now, dancing? Krem almost believes nearly freezing to death in Orlais is worth it, even if they haven’t quite resolved the Elder One business.

Varric is knocking back beers and spinning stories that have the Iron Bull in stitches (though the alcohol flowing may be helping him along). Krem is having a laugh with Rocky at Bull’s expense when Dalish slides in next to him.

“Krem,” Dalish says, a little reserved, mostly to get his attention. When she has it, she says, “You should go check on your Herald.”

“ _My_ Herald?”

Dalish rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a _shem_ about this.”

Krem looks to Rocky for back-up and finds none, the dwarf drawn in by Varric’s latest tale.

Evelyn is sitting on the wall outside the Chantry, looking down on most of the festivities. She doesn’t notice Krem initially, entranced by the ball of sparks that she is tossing from hand to hand, a soft smile on her face. The mark is dormant, and at that, Krem can’t help but steal a glance at the place where the Breach used to be. When she finally notices him, boots crunching in the snow, the sparks evaporate.

“What brings you to my humble abode, Cremisius?” Evelyn leans back and spreads her arms wide for effect. Krem grins, because she is lovely and charismatic and, for now at least, they are safe.

“I come to pay my respects to the heroine of the hour, my dear Lady Trevelyan.” Krem sweeps low in a bow, kissing the hand that can’t close rifts.

Evelyn laughs musically. “My, are all the Tevinter mercenaries as charming as you? The south truly is missing out.”

“Most would call us bold, and it wouldn’t be a compliment, Evelyn” Krem says flippantly, taking the space next to her. Evelyn’s name rolls off of his tongue more easily now than it did before, and he can’t help the thrill that runs through him at the smile it pulls from her. Her arms fold in front of her, and once again he marvels at how she manages to stay warm.

“I can always use a little bold to keep me in check, Krem,” Evelyn says, and they sit in silence for a moment.

“Why aren’t you down celebrating? This is your victory, after all.”

Evelyn rolls her eyes. “You sound like Cassandra. I’ll tell you the same thing I told her – it’s _our_ victory, Krem.”

“Yes, I did a stellar job of giving you a pretty face to wake up to,” Krem remarks dryly.

“Well, it’s not as pretty as _mine_ , but only Dorian’s even gets close,” Evelyn teases before her voice sobers. “Truly, Krem, thank you for being there. You were more help than you realize.”

Krem isn’t sure what to say to that, but he doesn’t have to fill the silence very long, because there is a shout of, “Forces approaching!” that sounds suspiciously like Cullen. Evelyn launches herself from her seat and rushes towards the gate, and Krem is close behind. Cullen, Josephine, and Cassandra are gathered at the gates already when Evelyn asks for a status report. Cullen repeats himself accordingly.

“Under what banner, Cullen?” Josephine asks, and it’s a perfectly respectable question, but for Cullen’s answer.

“None.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello! thank u for reading xx
> 
> battlemastershepard.tumblr.com <3


	7. blood still stains

Krem has never questioned Evelyn’s leadership, never thought anyone could have played a better game with the hand that the Maker dealt her, but he is so furious with her that he wants to toss his sword into Bull’s back when he has the nerve to ask Krem if he’s alright. He doesn’t, because he doesn’t have a death wish, but _Evelyn_ must, because that’s the root of this whole problem.

They are trudging through snow, those who managed to escape Haven, and they left Evelyn behind. They left her behind.

_I left her behind_.

The words play over and over in Krem’s head, anger keeping him warm in this blizzard that is worse than even the coldest days in Haven.

“Blackwall, Cassandra, Varric, with me,” Evelyn had said, and the three of had stepped forward resolutely, like they’d follow her anywhere. They probably would. Krem would; he’d been willing to, and when he’d protested at being left behind, Evelyn had had a fire in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before.

“Cremisius Aclassi, if you don’t help Cullen get all the villagers out, Maker help me there will be only your cinders left to bury.”

He had recoiled, visibly struck by her unwillingness to have Krem by her side when he had become a staple next to her after the events of Redcliffe. Evelyn’s eyes lingered on him just a moment too long, and his own eyes narrowed before he saluted her.

“ _Your Worship_ ,” he had said, and she had flinched like how he had hoped she would. He hadn’t called her that since that night in the tavern, and with the last word, he turned to aid Cullen’s retreat.

Now, of course, not only is he angry at her for not letting him fight with her, but the idea that his last words to her might be the title she hates more than anything leaves him with a sour taste in his mouth that spoils even the warmth of his fury. When the avalanche came down, Cassandra, Blackwall, and Varric had all resurfaced, but she was nowhere to be found.

They are still looking, but their efforts are less hopeful and more desperate. Leliana and Cullen both have parties searching the immediate vicinity of their group, which, if Krem is honest (and it _hurts_ to be honest) can’t afford to stick around to keep looking for Evelyn if they have any chance of surviving themselves. The food stocks are running low and lyrium was in short supply even _before_ this catastrophe; the mages can’t afford to keep the party warm without lyrium to keep their strength up.

Krem hasn’t eaten for three days, can’t make himself take food from a villager when it was this holy crusade that ended up razing Haven. It’s because of this that he’s relatively confident that he’s hallucinating when he hears Cassandra bellow, “ _Thank_ the _Maker!_ ” This is compounded by seeing Cullen, who hasn’t eaten in at least as long as Krem, carrying Evelyn in his arms towards their makeshift caravan.

Krem can’t believe his eyes, but he’s clearing space on some of the ground they’ve managed to wrench free from winter’s grip and looking for anything soft to lay down as a makeshift bed. Cassandra is shouting again, and when it finally registers that she’s shouting _at him_ to, “Tell Fiona to send her best healers to aid Solas!”

When he scrambles to his feet, all Krem can see is that she’s paler than anyone he’s ever seen and that her hair is flat to her head, matted from melted snow and the sweat she must have worked up struggling back to them. He’s never seen Evelyn without her personal storm cloud around her, hair dancing like it’s in a hurricane –

“Krem! _Go!_ ” Cassandra is shouting at him wildly, and he bolts off, cursing that Sera isn’t there. She’s faster than everybody else in the Inquisition, and he’s just a warrior that knows which end of the sword is sharp, and when he finally finds Fiona he is panting.

“Fiona. Your best healers, to the center of camp. Cullen and Cassandra found the Herald,” Krem says, and it’s all he can do to get the words out, but Fiona is all business.

“Emery, Asvhalla, with him.”

A human boy that looks like he must have been Harrowed not a week ago stands along with an elderly elf woman who both follow quickly on Krem’s heels. Solas has some of the color back in Evelyn’s cheeks by the time Krem returns, and he can see the slightest heave in her chest, but the blue in her lips hasn’t faded yet and Krem realizes with a start that he is no longer angry but terrified.

When the healers have done all they can do and the frost is starting to fall off of Evelyn’s eyelashes, Krem plants himself next to her makeshift cot and makes sure everyone knows he won’t be leaving except in the event of an archdemon’s appearance, and maybe not even then.

With Evelyn back in their ranks, the group of vagrants is free to move on, and moving on means Leliana’s people can hunt, and hunting means that Krem eats for the first time in too long. Well, he eats when Dalish brings him a bowl of some watery stew put together for a group of fifty people on only three rabbits. Dalish sits next to him without bothering trying to remove Krem from Evelyn’s side.

“You know, you could be a little less lovesick about this, Krem. Starting to read like one of Tethras’s novels.”

Krem rolls his eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dalish scoffs. “Please. You couldn’t take her eyes off of her from the second she showed up on the Storm Coast. You got all moony-eyed, almost forgot our post-bloodshed ritual of getting completely smashed.”

“Look even if I did like her as anything more than a paycheck – and I don’t, Dalish, let’s be clear – it wouldn’t work anything. She’s the Herald of Andraste.”

Dalish raises her eyebrows so high that they almost disappear in her hair. “Oh. So it’s forbidden love. Really making the case for the dwarf’s next serial.”

Krem’s neck is a little red now, but he can’t help sparing a glance at Evelyn. Her breathing has returned to semi-normal and most of her skin looks the right color, and when Dalish follows his gaze, she smirks. “See you later, Krem de la Crème.”

“It’s not a good nickname, Dalish. Don’t let Chief convince you otherwise.”

Walking away, he hears Dalish cackle, and Krem shakes his head goodnaturedly, but he turns quickly when there’s a subtle groan from Evelyn’s direction. Krem whips around, and Evelyn doesn’t stir, but she does shift slightly. When he reaches a hand out to check her pulse, see if it’s strengthened (it’s not to feel the thrill of the electricity that always seems to crackle around her, it’s not), Evelyn reaches out and her hand manages to wrap around his. Krem’s face goes up in flames, but she smiles at the contact in her state of half-sleep. If Evelyn is smiling, Krem is willing to deal with Dalish waggling her eyebrows at him a million times.

“Evelyn?” Krem whispers, and Evelyn shudders, gripping his hand tighter.

“…’m sorry, Krem,” she says, and it’s barely more than a breath, but Krem hears her regardless, even if he doesn’t understand why she’s sorry.

“Can’t go out on me in such an unspectacular way, Herald. I’d be stranded in this frozen wasteland with not even a pretty face to look at.”

Evelyn’s eyes flutter open, not a little weakly, and the grin that splits Krem’s face is almost painful, it’s so big. “I’m so sorry,” she manages and Krem quickly shushes her, before shouting over his shoulder for Solas.

“I’ll be right over here. The healers are going to patch you up a little more,” Krem says, and Evelyn nods silently, but when Solas and Fiona’s two healers are fussing over her, Evelyn’s eyes won’t leave his, leaning against a tree a few feet further away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see? she ok!  
> battlemastershepard.tumblr.com


	8. the cold dark earth

It’s still freezing, but they are moving now, and Evelyn can’t quite ride a horse on her own so she has to ride with various members of the Inquisition. All it takes is one eyebrow-waggle from Dalish and an obnoxious thumbs up from Bull to convince Krem that she probably shouldn’t be sharing a horse with him. Evelyn is weaker right now than he has ever seen her, and she probably doesn’t need to be seen riding with a Tevinter. The Inquisition doesn’t need anyone questioning her reputation, and, okay, maybe Dalish’s speech about him looking a little lovesick has gotten to him a bit.

So she’s riding with Cullen right now. She had been on Cassandra’s horse the day before that, and Blackwall’s the day before _that_. And he’s not _jealous_ of Cullen; his eyes keep darting over there because he’s worried that her condition could still take a rapid turn south. It has nothing to do with how she’s managed to fall asleep right there on Cullen’s breastplate despite the bouncing of the horse.

Krem shakes his head and hopes Solas is right about this mysterious castle, because the cold is making him mad. A couple of Leliana’s scouts have been gone for nearly 48 hours with no word back (not that this is unreasonable; Solas had said that the journey would be between three and four days for the scouts to get there and back, longer for a party that has children who struggle to keep up). Krem will feel better when they have a roof, however run down, over Evelyn’s head, where she can sleep without him worrying that she wouldn’t have the strength to keep herself warm with her magic. He’s her bodyguard. This is in his job description.

“How _did_ we end up in this wretched place? No sense of fashion and weather incapable of rising above freezing,” Dorian says, scoffing, having ridden up next to Krem.

Krem shrugs. “I go where the coin is, Dorian. Simple.”

Dorian screws up his face in distaste. “I would gladly give up every coin in my possession for a warm bath. There are many Tevinter things that make me turn up my nose, but at least we had the _weather_ right.”

“You’ll find no argument here,” Krem laughs, “When I came to Haven to make the pitch for the Chargers, I thought I’d be frozen before the Herald ever found time to speak to me.”

“Yes, well, all things considered, Haven wasn’t exactly a bastion of civilization – certainly not a Minrathous by any means.”

“Absolutely not a Minrathous at all,” Krem says dryly, “I wasn’t tempted to sell myself into slavery every other hour.”

Dorian winces. “Ah, yes. I forget occasionally the _soporati_ experience.” Dorian doesn’t seem to know how to recover from that, where to take the conversation, and Krem isn’t exactly doing him any favors. It gives Krem a little bit of a power trip to make an altus uncomfortable, even an altus so unorthodox as Dorian. “I suppose that was well-deserved,” Dorian says, recovering. A silence falls between them, and Krem’s eyes dart to Evelyn again, who has roused and is looking ahead with bleary eyes and a yawn that shouldn’t be so endearing but is. Krem can’t help the soft smile that plays on his lips, and he can’t put it away before Dorian notices it and follows his gaze.

“Ah,” Dorian says knowingly, “Our countrymen have always had a flair for the dramatic, haven’t we?”

Krem raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Come now. Romantic or not, there is _no_ denying that you are positively devoted to our Herald.”

“Devoted to my paycheck, perhaps,” Krem says, wondering how many different people he’ll have to say that to in the coming days. In the past few he’s already explained it to both Dalish and Dorian.

“Certainly. Why hadn’t I thought of that?” Dorian isn’t convinced, but it isn’t Krem’s job to convince him. Dorian can think what he likes about Krem, so long as he’s still willing to follow Evelyn.

So they ride, in silence, and Krem has to admit that he doesn’t really dislike Dorian, even if he’s a mage and he’s not a mage like Evelyn at all. Or, he likes him when he’s quiet, at least.

When they stop for the night, Leliana’s quickest scout is back, quicker than Solas’s most optimistic estimate. “It was two and a half days’ ride for me to get there and back, and that was a day ago. I would say that the party can make it to the castle in two days if we’re well-rested and well-fed. More likely is two and a half to three,” the scout says, and Krem isn’t eavesdropping; he just so happens to hear.

He’s sure it’s a coincidence, but Leliana calls out for them to bunker down for the night a little early. Krem sleeps soundly but lightly, and when Cullen begins shouting orders to troops, Krem is already awake, sitting atop his horse like he never left it.

“Got room for one more, Krem de la Crème?”

Krem groans before he can stop himself, and it conveniently masks the flutter in his chest he feels when he looks down and Evelyn is staring up at him, hand on her hip like they didn’t find her buried in a snowdrift just a few days prior. The spark is even back in her hair.

“Don’t let them convince you to call me that. Literally any name is better.”

“Then swing me up, _sweetheart_. They won’t let me ride on my own,” Evelyn says, and holds out her arms like a child.

_Sweetheart_. It’s no _amatus_ , but it makes his heart beat faster nonetheless, and briefly, he wonders if maybe Dalish was right. Maybe he is getting too attached, maybe it makes him a little too happy when she smiles at him, and maybe she is the Herald of Andraste and he is just a Tevinter merc and –

Krem swings her up into the saddle in front of him, and she is between his legs, leaning up against his body. There is a smile on her face that’s as bright as the sun itself, and Evelyn pats the horse’s side gently, a softness in her that Krem feels blessed to see. She is radiating heat again, and after a few moments he can feel it through his breastplate, almost like there are no layers between them at all.

“Any requests, Herald?” Krem asks, trying to ignore the blush creeping up his neck.

“Take us the way that bounces me the least,” Evelyn says dryly.

“For you, Evelyn, anything,” Krem says, softly, so only she can hear it.

“And you know, of course, that I’d let you take me anywhere.” It’s so quiet it could almost be a sigh, a secret, something only the two of them know.

Krem tries always to choose the path of least resistance for her, to be the bodyguard she’s paying for, but when she tucks stray locks of hair behind her ear and names every bird that flies overhead (“my father loved birds”), Krem knows.

Krem knows he’s in deep, and when she laughs, the snow even seems to melt. There’s not a chance it will work. She is too big, a figurehead, an icon, and he is the son of a tailor who became a slave.

He likes her.

Fuck.

And she is so unattainable that she might as well be a star in the sky.

Evelyn leans back into him, and it’s almost like she is in his arms, and he refuses to even look Dalish’s way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kiss kiss fall in love  
> or something  
> i love u  
> battlemastershepard.tumblr.com


	9. lay me gently

Evelyn blesses him with her presence that day, riding with him, and does again the day after, setting him apart from everyone else who she’s ridden with, and he has been steadfastly avoiding Dalish because it’s almost as bad admitting that Dalish was right as it is admitting Bull was right. He’s on cloud nine for the moment, even if he knows it won’t last. Her responsibilities are too great, and he is both a mercenary _and_ a Tevinter. For now, he will accept this sliver of happiness for however long it lasts, and only ask for what she already willingly gives.

A cold realist in the back of Krem’s head recognizes that it would be much easier to keep this purely professional, but it’s pretty easy to ignore that nagging voice when Evelyn is settled comfortably close to him. It is both a blessing and a curse when they finally reach Skyhold, because she is whisked away by her advisors to Maker knows where, but Dorian is next to him a moment later.

“You know, I would never wish to come between you and your devotion to your paycheck, but I figured I would inform you that Solas cleared the Herald for riding solo on horseback last night. Just a little something to clear your head.”

Krem doesn’t want to think about the implication of that, and Dorian is gone as quickly as he appears, so he doesn’t have to dwell on it too long.

Skyhold is a wreck, and Krem doesn’t think that that’s being particularly unkind. Many of the roofs are caved in, Rocky trips over some banged-up structure on his way to moon over Flissa, and Evelyn has to project some kind of weird mage energy in order to open up the obstructed entrance to the main hall. Everyone falls into relief efforts pretty quickly, with high priority being given to the recovery of beds where possible and otherwise the construction of cots. The Inquisition has had a relatively high amount of food to eat, considering their nomadic nature recently, but with Leliana around, nothing is impossible.

Bull has requisitioned him for the moment, the Chief himself doing the lifting of three of the Inquisition’s soldiers, but when there’s a call from the clearing that is the main courtyard, Bull follows it, and, as they do, the Chargers follow Bull.

Cassandra and Leliana are speaking with Evelyn atop the battlements, and Evelyn is staring at the sword in her hand in a little bit of bewilderment and a little bit of awe. Cassandra shouts, “Commander, will they follow?”

“Inquisition!” That’s Cullen’s voice now, and Krem can feel the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up, because if there’s anything Cullen can do, it’s give the kind of rally Krem can get behind. “Will you follow?”

There’s an undercurrent of passion rippling through the crowd, determination – _we just walked through 80 miles of snow to get here; we’ll follow anywhere else you lead us._ Bull’s eyes are locked onto Evelyn’s form, stiff and uncomfortable like she’d rather be anywhere else in Thedas, but Krem also thinks that that’s something he sees because he’s spent the last two days with her pressed against his body. Bull sees it too, of course, but that’s a Ben-Hassrath thing. Krem doesn’t like to ask about Ben-Hassrath things.

“Will you fight?” Cullen’s raising his voice above the crowd that’s already murmuring. The din is rising, getting almost raucous. “Will we triumph?” There’s an outburst from a tiny serving girl, an elf, and it’s the final straw that breaks the entire crowd free, cheering and chanting and praising the Maker because this is a holy war before anything else.

“Your leader-” Evelyn turns to face the crowd, and Krem thinks he spies a glimpse of panic on her face, the look of someone who’s walked into a spider’s lair and didn’t realize it until after the web has already spun up over the exit. “Your Herald-” The panic is gone as quickly as it appears, and Evelyn smiles down on them, every inch the benevolent leader that the Inquisition wants to follow, mage or not. “Your Inquisitor!”

The crowd erupts into a cacophony that’s unlike anything that Krem has ever heard while sober, so persuasive that even Josephine is swept up by it. Krem catches a glimpse of unbridled joy from the ambassador before she recovers her diplomatic dignity, and he even smiles a bit at the sight. Evelyn finally raises the sword above her head, arms wobbly because the weight’s not at all like the staff she’s used to and she’s a skinny little mage, after all, and Krem salutes her. Whether she sees him or not is another issue entirely, because her advisors sweep her away, but Bull doesn’t miss the gesture.

“Didn’t know Vints had the capacity to get all bothered about southerners, Krem.” It’s a joke, and Krem knows it, and he’s going to try his very best not to rise to the bait, although sometimes that’s impossible when Bull has already laid the framework.

“Only the rich ones, Chief.”

“Seriously,” Bull says, and Krem rolls his eyes. “She was only Harrowed a few years ago, Krem, just starting to make the push for promotion to Enchanter. From not-even-Enchanter to Inquisitor, that fast? Talk about whiplash.”

Evelyn doesn’t seem that young until Krem think about it, remembers how innocent she had looked when she was naming every bird they came across to him on the way from the ruins of Haven to Skyhold. Josephine pulls Bull away, sweet talking him in a way that only the ambassador seems able to do when really she just needs him to move a couple of huge boards out of the way in order to get to where her new office will be. It’s not a hard thing to accomplish anyway; a beautiful woman asking him for a favor is like dragon blood to Iron Bull: intoxicating, empowering, and irresistible.

No one’s directed him to do anything, so Krem helps where he can, because holding that shield up all the time at least has made him capable of manual labor. He’s picking rocks for some man called Cabot, helping her salvage the ruins of a place he’s pretty sure will be the next tavern (mostly because Cabot looks like the kind of guy who appreciates a good drink).

He nearly drops everything he’s holding when Sera darts up and pokes a finger at his right bicep. “Can I help you?” he warily asks, more surprised than anything, but he knows better than to be caught off-guard when Sera is around.

“Don’t get it,” she says, a little disappointed. Sera takes a step back and crosses her own arms, staring at Krem.

“Don’t get what?”

“Her Inquisitorialness told me I wasn’t her type, and when I asked if it was because I was a girl, she said it was because my arms were even thinner than hers. Which is wrong, right? I can’t be smaller than a mage.”

“So you chose to check out what the fuss was all about with _my_ arms?”

“ _Arm._ Not _arms_. I only checked the one. And of course I checked your arms when yours are the ones that’ve been wrapped around our shiny brand new Inquisitor the last few days. Anyway, put those arms to use faster so I can get a drink. Cabot’s offered me one on the house.”

“Because?”

“Because. It’s a Jenny thing.”

Krem chuckles as Sera bounces away in Vivienne and Blackwall’s direction. She is a good kid, and after his talk with Bull, Krem realizes that she and Evelyn are probably about the same age. He and Sera probably have quite a bit more in common than he has thought about before. Each part of a society that had no place for them, they struck out on their own as part of organizations that were each one part unsavory and one part inherently good.

When the sun starts to set, there are enough beds (makeshift cots, at least) for each member of the Inquisition. Krem knows this because when Bull offers to have the Chargers sleep outside to make room for any civilians from Haven, Evelyn practically shouts him down.

“Josephine has assured me that there is a bed for every person here, and after everything you’ve done today, the Chargers are the last group that is going to be sleeping under the stars.”

“Aw, Boss, when you put it like that, it sounds almost romantic.”

Evelyn chortles a little harder than Krem had thought she would. “I’ve heard stories about how entertaining it is to ride the Bull, but I’ll have to take a pass. You might break me.”

The blush creeps up Krem’s neck, and it’s not quite jealousy, but somewhere in between that and interest in the way she’s willing to react to a “sexually deviant” proposition. Evelyn’s smile flickers out and she looks at Krem a little more seriously. “Krem,” she says, and there’s something cliché in Krem that wants to say that hearing her say his name is like a song, “Walk with me?”

“Of course, Herald.”

They walk side-by-side, weaving in and out of the sleeping frames until they are standing outside of the main hall in the cold air once again, a box by their feet once they get there. The cold hits Krem’s face hard and he shivers involuntarily. Evelyn’s smile is Cheshire, and she looks at the box.

“ _What_ a coincidence,” Evelyn says with the grin still in place, “How _did_ this box get here?”

Krem rolls his eyes but smiles with her. “Pray tell,” he says.

“I had one of Leliana’s people drop it off for me after you popped inside. You want to open it?”

It’s a _gift?_ Krem doesn’t know what to say. “It’s for me?”

“Nope, for the other dashing Tevinter merc who I can’t get out of my head,” she says with a shining smile and that mischievous spark in her eyes that Krem can’t get enough of.

Krem lifts the lid up and pulls a cloak out from the box. The fabric is fur-lined and soft, but warmer than he is expecting, warmer than it _should_ be. He looks at Evelyn in confusion, and she is trying to stifle a smile that looks like it’s trying to possess her. Finally she bursts out, “Do you like it?”

“What is it?” he asks before thinking, suddenly hoping it doesn’t offend her.

It doesn’t. “Well, you’re always cold, at least you were in Haven. You seemed okay on the ride to Skyhold when I was with you, but my blood runs so warm that I figured it was that. So what if I could make you a cloak that worked that way? I’d been working on my runecrafting before the disaster at the Conclave, so I worked in some really small fire runes, small enough that they would only give off heat and they wouldn’t disrupt the softness of the material. Try it on! Please, try it on,” she says, almost all in one breath, more excited than Krem has ever seen her.

He slides the cloak on and immediately breathes a sigh of relief as the warmth envelopes him, a kind of visceral reaction that happens before he even can think about it. Evelyn’s smile is ear to ear, and he says, “Thank you. I don’t know why you’d do this for me, but thank you.”

There’s a flicker of sadness in Evelyn’s eyes. “You wanted to stay with me, in Haven. I _wanted_ you to stay with me, but I made you go, and you called me _Your Worship_ and I thought that was the end of whatever friendship I had with you even if I did make it out alive.” Evelyn pauses briefly, thinking over whatever she is going to say. “So I suppose this is an apology gift as well as a thank you gift. If it had been the other way around, if you had told me to leave, I don’t know if I would have listened to the order.”

Krem is silent, and the air is quiet around them except for the occasional crackle of lightning around her. It would be so easy to kiss her, he thinks, to see if her lips give him the same spark that he felt in the tavern the other night when his fingers brushed her ears.

“It was selfish to make you leave. I wanted to keep you safe more than I wanted to keep you by my side because if I had lost you out there I don’t know if I could have stood it.” She takes his hands in hers, and they feel like they are on fire. He and Evelyn are standing here like civilians without armor, bare hands touching bare hands, and Krem feels like his whole body is on fire. “From now on,” Evelyn says, eyes never leaving his, “You’re with me and I’m with you. I won’t leave you behind again unless you want to be left.”

Krem’s mouth is dry. “For as long as you’ll have me, Evelyn.”

Evelyn’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and when she finally drops his hands, Krem feels loss like he didn’t know was possible. She begins to walk away, and when she does, Krem stops her by grabbing her unafflicted arm. “Wait,” he says, and she stops immediately at the contact, looking at him. “Thank you, Evie.”

The nickname slips out before he can stop himself, and Krem isn’t even sure where it came from. He’s never heard anyone call her that before, and the blush is rising to her cheeks so quickly that it’s inflaming her face. Immediately, Krem starts to backpedal, opening his mouth to apologize, before she speaks.

“No, sweetheart. Thank _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this was a little longer? i hope you liked it this was an absolute joy to write :)  
> meet me @battlemastershepard.tumblr.com i'll buy u an ice cream


	10. never miss a beat

If Krem had known that the gift of a cloak would be followed by a trip to Emprise du Lion, he might not have accepted it so readily. Evelyn’s not particularly twisted, but no one can say that she doesn’t have a sense of humor, because she included both Krem and Dorian on this trip to Emprise du Lion and Dorian has been affectionately referring to himself as, “a hothouse orchid” since he arrived in Haven. Sera seems a little better adjusted, or maybe she just appears that way because Dorian’s complaints are so dramatic.

“Listen here, Inquisitor, we don’t all have magical cloaks and beautiful men to keep our bed warm at night,” Dorian says, looking pointedly at Krem. Krem isn’t sure if he should blush or rebut the implication of the last half of that statement, but Evelyn beats him to it.

“Don’t we? You’re missing out then, Pavus. Wonder where my last three shipments to your haunt have wound up.”

“Can’t you just… magic yourself warmer?” Sera asks, a little more reserved underneath the layers (Krem counts four) in which she’s bundled. Evelyn purses her lips in an _I told you so_. Dorian rolls his eyes and scoffs, and, having won, Evelyn gives Sera a shining smile. “I can’t feel my fingers, though. Seriously. Should’ve worn all those breeches I stole in Val Royeaux.”

Bull had pointed out how young the Inquisitor was only a few days ago, and Krem had been trying to piece together her exact age since, but Sera was the youngest in the Inquisitor’s inner circle, Evelyn herself included. For everything Sera had accomplished, she couldn’t be older than twenty years, and when he thinks about that, it doesn’t even register that he’s pulling off Evelyn’s gift until it’s already off.

Still, Krem knows how Sera feels about a favor, so he says, “Sera, you wear this the rest of the way there and I’ll take it the way back.”

Sera snorts, but takes the cloak from his outstretched hand. “You say, ‘the way back’ like people don’t die everywhere our holy one goes.”

“ _We_ don’t die, Sera. That’s my number one rule.”

Sera picks at him and Evelyn and Dorian all the rest of the way to camp, but Krem knows she’s grateful because she hadn’t been picking at all before he’d let her borrow the cloak. They bed down a few miles from the quarry where they’re heading to clear out red templars and liberate a few people that they’ve been told were kidnapped to work in the quarry. Dorian brightens up considerably once they have the fire going. It’s an easy matter with mages around, and Evelyn even lets Dorian have the honor of lighting it.

Krem never asks for his cloak back, but it winds up next to him without him even noticing. He doesn’t need it when they four are huddled around the fire, but Krem smiles at Sera nonetheless, who steadfastly doesn’t notice. Evelyn is smiling benevolently at Dorian and Sera as they trade increasingly ridiculous stories about childhoods that seem completely otherworldly to Krem. If not for the Inquisition, Krem doubts that Dorian would ever have spoken to someone like Sera in his life. Sera is like a living myth that has risen from the ashes of a horrific childhood and Dorian is a lot like an uppity freedom fighter fallen from grace with his traditionalist family.

“It suddenly occurs to me, dear Inquisitor, that I actually know very little about you,” Dorian says, and Evelyn starts, having been completely immersed in Dorian and Sera’s antics.

“There’s very little to know,” Evelyn says with a chuckle that borders on uncomfortable, but Krem has to admit that he’s also a little curious. Still, she continues. “I’m the youngest of four children, with two sisters and a brother and then a younger bastard half-sister that I was closer to than anyone else.”

“What’s their names?” Sera pipes up.

“My sisters are called Adeline and Magdalena, my brother’s name is Maxwell, and my half-sister’s name is Katrina. My parents were quite in love for a very long time, so you can imagine the scandal when my mother found out that Magdalena was named after Katrina’s mother. My father and Katrina’s mother had been seeing each other behind my mother’s back for three years before Katrina was born, just a few months after my mother had me.” Evelyn leaned back, eyes fluttering shut like someone lost in a memory. “My mother,” she says, chuckling under her breath, “insisted we take Katrina in, because Katrina’s mother was near-destitute. I still don’t know if we took her in because it was the Andrastian thing to do or because my mother wanted my father to stare a reminder of his infidelity in the face every day.”

“How did the other nobility react? The mixing of bloodlines in Tevinter would have been quite the scandal,” says Dorian, and Krem is inclined to agree, because back home it’s all about breeding.

“Ehhh,” Evelyn says, scratching the back of her head and screwing up her face as if she’s trying to remember. “I was so young, I don’t really remember it actually happening. I think it was, because my family was so devout. Magdalena won’t even go by her full name anymore because she’s so embarrassed. Everyone calls her Mags, and in the Order she goes by Lena.”

“The Order?” Krem blurts out before he can stop himself. “Your sister’s a templar?”

Evelyn actually laughs out loud. “Yeah. She started a little late, but it wasn’t too long after she went away for training that I started getting mage dreams. Imagine my _delight_ when I found out we were both to live out the rest of our days at Ostwick.”

Krem’s pretty sure he isn’t imagining the bitterness there. “Maxwell was a clerk in the Chantry last I heard, Adeline was doing something similar to make our family proud, I don’t have a clue where Mags is anymore and I don’t really want to think about it, and I haven’t seen Katrina since I was ten when they sent me away to the Circle.”

The fire illuminates Evelyn’s face, and her knees are pulled up to her chest when she finally falls silent.

“You and Katrina were close, then?” Dorian asks.

Evelyn nods. “I had been hiding my dreams from my family; I knew what happened to mages, and I thought maybe I could hide it. Even if I had been thinking about becoming an abomination or demons or the destructive power of magic – and I wasn’t. I was ten. – I just didn’t want to leave my family behind, especially Katrina. I set my curtains on fire the day before Katrina’s tenth birthday, and was on my way to Ostwick within what seemed like the hour.”

Conversation peters off, and Evelyn offers to take the first watch. Sera and Dorian both retire to their bedrolls, and Krem is almost ready to do the same but he’s finding it a little too hard to leave her alone out here.

The fire has died down a bit, just enough that all Krem can see now is Evelyn’s eyes illuminated against it. She seems lost in her own head, and like maybe she doesn’t really want to be alone in there, so Krem says, “My family and I don’t get along very well either. My father was a tailor, and as soon as I was old enough, my mother wanted me to marry to secure a more comfortable position. When I refused, it didn’t go over well, and my mother never forgave me.”

Evelyn is silent and still not looking him so Krem continues on. “Not too long after that, a magister picks up this pet project to protect the poor from the cold. Had his slaves make clothes and sell them for next-to-nothing. His heart was in the right place, but my father couldn’t compete with that. Had to sell himself into slavery. I joined the army not too long after that.”

Krem wonders if this is the time to tell Evelyn that his mother had wanted him to marry a man, that he’d had to bribe his way into combat roles in the Tevinter army, that his secret had been part of the reason he’d wound up with Bull in the first place, but it doesn’t seem like the time. Evelyn gives him a small smile, and maybe it’s just the illusion of the firelight, but she looks almost teary-eyed.

* * *

“What kind of _shitebiscuits-_ ” Sera says, her impassioned, righteous fury not to be trifled with, “lock up villagers in a place where your tits will freeze off before the red shite can kill you?” She’s mumbling to herself as she picks the lock on another cage, and the villagers run off without even a muttered thank-you to Sera. The elf doesn’t notice it, but Evelyn does, and Krem can tell it rubs her wrong with the way Evelyn makes certain to pat Sera on the back for each one freed.

They’ve killed more templars than Krem can count, and it’s hard not to search each one’s face for a familial resemblance to Evelyn after the storytelling the night before.

“Think that’s the last of them, if what Mistress Pudding told us was right,” Sera says, but Evelyn doesn’t seem to hear, scanning documents on a table next to them. Her hand is sparking again, the way it had when they met Alexius in Redcliffe, and Krem steps forward, away from their companions.

“Evie,” he says, and grabs her hand, less worried about being forward than he is about her feeling incompetent again.

She jumps a few too many inches in the air at the contact; Evelyn hadn’t even heard him get close. Krem can read over her shoulder, but not quickly enough to make out what the paper says before she crumples it up and sets it on fire in her own hand out of fury.

“ _Speaking_ of Mistress Poulin, Sera, we should be paying her a visit.” Evelyn’s voice is a low growl, one that has Dorian raising his eyebrows.

“Inquisitor-” Dorian starts, and Evelyn cuts him off.

“She _sold_ them. She _sold_ people to the red templars to mine _red lyrium_ , Dorian. She sold her neighbors as _slaves._ ” Evelyn is snarling, and Krem is reminded why Varric calls her Flash. Evelyn stomps past all three of them, mounting her horse in one fluid motion and barely giving the party time to catch up with her.

Sahrnia feels closer on the ride back than it did when they were heading to the quarry, though part of that may have to do with the speed at which Evelyn is riding towards the town.

“Is she always like this?” Dorian asks Sera out of Evelyn’s earshot, and Krem is reminded of the fact that this is Dorian’s first excursion with Evelyn. Krem bites his tongue about how uncomfortably offensive an altus asking an elf about their leader being outraged about slavery is, but only because Sera chuckles.

“Yeah. I love her.”

When they reach Poulin, the air around Evelyn is crackling with magic, and Krem barely manages to slip into the house before Evelyn blocks off the exit with an ice wall. He’s a little confused about that; he’s never seen her use any wintry magic before, but maybe the Emprise has her feeling chilly after all.

“People _died_ because of you,” Evelyn hisses, the mage out of every childhood horror story, the air rife with unbridled power and rage.

“I had no choice, Your Worship. They were going to take them no matter what.” Evelyn doesn’t even have to explain what she is blaming Poulin for before Poulin begins cowering. “I used the funds to help the villagers that remained-”

“And when they were out of villagers? When only you remained? Would you not have simply fled?”

“I-”

“No. You are a prisoner of the Inquisition, to be judged at Skyhold when I see fit.” The ice wall shatters behind them, an intimidation technique that has worked remarkably well, and had Krem not known he was in Evelyn’s good graces he would have been a little fidgety about it as well. Evelyn leaves Poulin to be dealt with by one of the many Inquisition forces that have been aiding Sahrnia, and her party is up on horseback again at the snap of a finger.

When they are back at Skyhold and anyone asks what to do with Poulin, Evelyn responds that she wants her to rot a little longer in the dungeons before she makes a decision. Krem doesn’t think of Evelyn as particularly cruel, but there’s no doubting that she’s making a statement.

The Inquisition stands with people who can’t stand up for themselves. It’s a noble ideal, sure, and one Krem can get behind, but the longer that the organization is around, the harder it will be to maintain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been listening to top 40 radio for 6 hours pls help  
> battlemastershepard.tumblr.com


	11. you feel like flyin'

Skyhold feels more and more tense the longer the day goes on, and Krem can’t quite put a finger on why. He sets up shop in the tavern most days, where Sera’s laugh has started to feel like home and that spirit-man-thing is always helping people even when they think it’s a ghost doing all the work. The Chargers are there too, almost always, spread out around the longest table that Cabot has to offer (and Stitches is still sitting on the floor).

Krem has never seen the Inquisition’s straight-laced commander so much as touch a drop of alcohol (though probably no one deserves it more, except maybe Evelyn herself), which is why it nearly floors him when Cullen Rutherford walks in. Krem is surprised to begin with, and extra confused when Cullen begins walking towards the seat he’s carved out for himself in the corner.

“Er, Krem, I know we’ve never talked much,” Cullen says, and Krem raises an eyebrow.

“I suppose not?” Krem says, and he’s a little wary for real now, because the only time he’s ever spoken much with Cullen was during the evacuation of Haven.

“I just figured that I owed you a warning, man to man, that Josephine and the Inquisitor have gone to a kind of war and that you’re involved.”

“Involved?” Krem raises an eyebrow; he’s not sure how he’d be involved in any discussion between the ambassador and Evelyn, but Cullen doesn’t seem willing to give up any more information than that, rubbing the back of his neck and disappearing out the door.

Krem raises his eyebrows and stiffens his upper lip in an attempt to prepare for whatever bullshit is probably coming his way, draining the last of the beer he’d been slowly nursing. Sera’s laugh carries over all the other noises in the tavern, and this chuckle of hers is particularly boisterous. The elf slides down the last half of the railing, and Evelyn descends next to her, taking the stairs in a poised way that directly contrasts with Sera’s, well, _everything_. Dorian’s right behind them, picking at what appears to be a hangnail, and when Evelyn calls his name, Krem feels like he’s walking into a trap.

“Krem! _Fancy_ meeting you here!” Evelyn’s smile is wide, maybe even predatory, and Krem hopes he’s not what she’s wanting to eat alive. He’s off-duty and not wearing armor, and when she rests her hand on his elbow, pulling him up gently, Krem can feel the curve of her fingers more acutely than he ever has before.

“How can I be of assistance, Inquisitor?” Krem asks, professional enough to disguise that he would very much like her to never stop touching him even in as small a capacity as this.

Evelyn raises an eyebrow at how formal he is, but doesn’t comment on it, smile still in place. “We, my dear, have a fitting for our visit to the Winter Palace.”

Sera’s cackle is obnoxious and characteristic of her, and Krem’s eyes are so wide that he can’t do much but stare at the party Evelyn’s begun to gather around her. “You’re taking _me_ to the Winter Palace,” Krem says, and he’s not sure whether he’s stating or asking. “I’m a Tevinter _merc_ , Inquisitor. Surely someone with Cassandra’s background is better-”

There’s a gentle squeeze on his elbow, a delicate embrace from Evelyn’s fingers. “Our fitting is in half an hour, but we’re going to pop on over now if you’d like to join us.”

No wonder Josephine had thrown a fit. Evelyn is planning to take the least qualified, least _normal_ team to aid the Empress, to help her decide the fate of Orlais. Krem suppresses a groan, but rises, because well –

There’s a shock to his left temple, a stray spark that’s wandered out of Evelyn’s hair, and Krem looks at her profile as she talks to Sera, giggling, head tossed back just slightly so that the tresses she normally tucks behind her ear fall in with the rest. She looks back at him, and Krem can’t help but smile in response, because Maker, she is beautiful with her unbroken nose and unruly hair.

“Inquisition red is going to clash with my hair. Just a word to the wise,” Krem says, and her radiant smile is so worth it.

A traitorous part of Krem remembers that their trip to the Winter Palace is for a ball, and despite the way Vivienne has him positively terrified of the Game, that part is desperately chirping at the idea of a dance, however short, with Evelyn. Sera gives him a knowing eyebrow waggle that Krem deliberately does _not_ see, and Dorian’s smirk is similarly smug, but Evelyn can’t see it with her back turned as she exits the tavern.

Krem must hesitate a moment too long, because Dorian finally says, “How long are you going to stand there slack-jawed before you join us in what is surely to be an enlightening experience?”

“An altus and a soporati. What _will_ the magisters say?” Krem asks, an eyebrow raised.

Krem falls into step next to Dorian, Evelyn and Sera in the lead. Dorian scoffs. “Probably the same thing they said when I left. ‘There goes the Pavus boy, a perennial disappointment,’ followed by a lot of huffing and puffing about how my breeding amounts to nothing when I act the way I do.” Sera and Evelyn make a funny pair to watch, a prim and proper noble and an elven girl who has never even been able to afford a proper haircut. When they laugh together, perhaps even a little conspiratorially, Krem can’t help but smile – the perfect picture of an unlikely friendship.

“Truth be told,” Krem says, happy to watch Evelyn wrap her arm around Sera’s shoulder in an almost sisterly gesture, “I’m surprised the Inquisitor’s chosen to take me and Sera. At least you have a little experience with political pursuit.”

Dorian laughs, not unkindly. “You think it’s me she was most interested in taking to the Winter Palace?”

Krem looks warily at Dorian, and Dorian continues, “Our dear ambassador broached the subject of which of her inner circle Evelyn would like to accompany her, so that Lady Montilyet could arrange a fitting such as the one we are currently en route to.”

“That’s fair…?” Krem doesn’t see the point that Dorian’s trying to make, but Dorian continues even as their party approaches the castle proper.

Dorian shakes his head. “The party that the Inquisitor proposed was our dear Seeker, Varric, and yourself.”

“I fail to see the point you’re trying to make,” Krem manages, though his heart swells at the fact that she chose _him_ as part of her entourage.

“Lady Montilyet,” Dorian says, lowering his voice to a whisper, “objected, not unfairly, to your presence, thinking that having anyone from Tevinter in the party might be detrimental to the Inquisition’s image. In a characteristically hotheaded move, the Inquisitor replaced her choices of Cassandra and Varric with myself and Sera. It was a petty move that felt delightfully like our shared homeland, if I may say so.”

Walking there next to Sera, Evelyn looks so beautiful, and Krem doesn’t know why she would choose him, but he is oh so thankful.

* * *

 

“Katrina was a terror,” Evelyn says to him as they are waiting for one of the two tailors doing the fitting to free themselves of Sera and Dorian. “She came to live with us when she was two or three, running around the whole place and tugging on curtains and coattails and anything else she could get her hands on.”

“Sounds a little like the Inquisition,” Krem says dryly, and Evelyn laughs the laugh where she covers her mouth with her hand, proper and prim.

“You’re not wrong, but only a _little_ like the Inquisition,” Evelyn says, mischievous mirth in her voice. Her voice goes wistful. “I _do_ think she would have liked it here. We were quite the pair of misfits, after all; Katrina was a mischievous little reminder of my father’s infidelity and I was the troublemaking youngest child who turned out to be a mage.”

Evelyn seems to drift away in her thoughts, and Krem would like to follow her in them, but isn’t sure how. Instead, he says, a little more seriously, “You know, the Inquisition’s resources grow by the day. If anyone could find her, I’m sure Leliana can.”

Evelyn _hmms_ under her breath. “I suppose. The last thing I would wish for anyone is to expose them any more to this holy war without their explicit consent.”

Krem scoffs, and as soon as the sound leaves his throat he thinks he’s perhaps been hanging around Dorian too long. “If you and I were siblings, not even the Maker himself could keep me away.”

“Oh, Krem,” she says, a soft smile in her voice, “Your devotion knows no bounds.”

Evelyn leans back in the chair where she’s taken up residence, sighing and tipping her head back as her eyes slip closed. Her hair falls over the back, unspooling from the way she has loosely had it tied at her neck, and Evelyn sighs. She breathes softly, and Krem watches her; from her wild mane, to her unbroken nose, to the too-warm fingertips that spark when her unruly temper gets the better of her, Evelyn is so beautiful. Maker be damned, but Krem could worship her instead.

“Only to you, Evie,” Krem says, and it’s little more than an exhale; Evelyn doesn’t seem to hear, but every time he calls her the nickname that only he seems to use, Krem’s mouth goes dry.

There isn’t much time to dwell on this, though, because Dorian exits the makeshift fitting stall, rubbing his left arm. “Your southern tailors leave much to be desired, Inquisitor. My entire left side will bruise.”

Evelyn pouts, her lips a sinful sight. “Oh my, Dorian. Hopefully your delicate complexion clears by the ball.”

Dorian snorts. “It’s all yours, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn smirks, stretching her arms over her head in a not-at-all noble way, and stands. She graces Krem with a smile, and disappears behind the curtains that have been set up in Josephine’s office.

Sera shrieks behind her curtain (“I’m not _squirmin’_ , I just don’t like pointy shite near all my sensitive bits!”), and Krem and Dorian share a chuckle at her expense. They sit in silence for a moment, and Dorian takes the seat that Evelyn has evacuated.

“All jokes aside about your blossoming relationship with the Inquisitor and the paycheck she so kindly supplies,” Dorian begins, and Krem is rolling his eyes from the very beginning, “I figured I would let you know, Tevinter-to-Tevinter, that you may want to brush up on your dancing. I’m unsure how much experience you have with the Tevinter brand, but Orlesians are a bit of a pretentious sort.”

Krem blanches, and isn’t sure how this detail may have slipped his mind. He knows the basics of dancing, did a bit back home in the north, but none since he’s begun being Krem and certainly none of the southern dances.

“Shit,” Krem says, and Dorian arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“Well, I didn’t expect this to evoke such a strong reaction.” Krem shoots him a look, and Dorian continues. “What I was going to say was that your options are to ask our ambassador for a lesson or two and risk being admonished for allowing the Inquisitor to take you to the Winter Palace at all, or…” Dorian pauses for effect, a dramatic flair that makes Krem sigh. “You can join Sera and I for what I’m sure will be the least productive dance lessons I can possibly give.”

Dorian’s right; that does sound like a disaster. “Need I list all the ways that that could too easily go wrong?”

“No,” Dorian says primly, “I have already thought of every single way it could go wrong and I have elected to ignore all of those ways. If we are going to scandalize those Orlesians, we are at least not going to make fools of ourselves by doing it, and if that involves me taking you and Sera under my wing for the most unlikely of dance training, so be it.”

Krem groans, but Dorian looks at him expectantly. “Oh, come, Krem. What will you do if your darling Inquisitor asks you for a dance and you’re left with no excuse but that you’re ill-prepared?”

The second tailor shoves Sera out from behind the second curtain, and the elf stumbles out, cursing, as the tailor puts on a forced smile and looks at Krem. “Sir?” she asks and motions him forward. Krem is happy to oblige leaving Dorian and Sera behind to bicker between themselves.

Before he is even completely undressed for the tailor, Krem has made the decision to attend at least one of these (surely catastrophic) sessions, because the idea of having his arms around Evelyn in any capacity for any amount of time trumps whatever disaster Dorian and Sera might be able to get him into during preparation.

Krem sighs. The things he would do for this woman, he thinks, and prays that this fitting goes quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally this whole story is just pining i s2g
> 
> hey i'm back!!! super sorry i got so into my deacon story that it was hard to tear myself away from it lmao  
> thanks for reading and special thanks to my pal roger on tumblr who pointed out that i haven't updated this in eons. you're the best.
> 
> thanks for reading guys!! xx


	12. feel it coming up my throat

Krem sleeps lightly; he always has, though since joining the Inquisition it hasn’t been as much an ordeal. He wouldn’t call Skyhold a particularly quiet place (Cassandra’s out grunting at her practice dummies barely past dawn every day), but Krem manages to sleep most morning until at least daybreak.

Today, though, Krem has managed to sleep a little longer. He’ll meet with Dorian and Sera in the afternoon for their “dance lesson” as Dorian insists on calling it, and when Krem rises after the sun, he isn’t sure how he wound up in bed (figuratively, of course) with an altus and a Red Jenny. The Red Jenny, of course, is maybe eighteen, barely more than a girl, and the altus is a fallen-from-grace Tevinter noble who doesn’t seem to be on speaking terms with much of his homeland, but the point stands. Krem’s place as a merc doesn’t seem nearly as out of the ordinary as it might in a lot of other crowds.

Most disconcerting about how late Krem has slept, though, is that he didn’t awaken of his own accord. The tavern is already buzzing, but a scream pierces the still-chilly morning air, and Krem bolts up from where his sleep. His room has a small window, and Krem moves quickly towards it, leaping out of bed to see the commotion. Down below, Evelyn is on her knees, staff in the dirt and a hand bracing the ground so she doesn’t fall. Krem’s eyes widen and he dresses like lightning, flying down the stairs as fast as his legs will take him. There's so much panic in him that he can't express it; he's only just realized how desperately he would defend her, and Evelyn falls when he's not even awake?

His eyes are still bleary, but Krem is already awake when the brisk air slams his face. Krem turns a sharp right, towards where he can actually hear Evelyn huffing now. Cassandra’s by her side when Krem finally gets there. By the time he slides into the dirt next to her, Evelyn isn’t huffing anymore, though the labored breathing remains.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra says, and then asks, “What happened? Are you alright?”

When Evelyn looks up at Cassandra, Cassandra reels a bit, and when she turns to look at Krem, he has a similar reaction. Evelyn’s perfect nose is crumpled, broken in at least three places, and Krem manages an, “Um,” that is decidedly not eloquent.

“What?” Evelyn asks, a joke dancing in her voice even as blood runs in rivulets down towards her mouth, “Something on my face?”

“Oh, Maker,” Cassandra says, and the dam on the floodgates bursts. Evelyn is laughing hysterically, punctuated with intermittent grimaces as the laughter disturbs her mangled nose. She’s crying, too, but it’s just the unstoppable reflex of being hit in the nose, though Krem isn’t sure who would have dared hit her here.

“What happened?” Krem asks, completely unsure whether he should be laughing with Evelyn or if he should be going to get a healer. Cassandra’s looking around wildly, but Krem doesn’t think she’s considering laughing.

“I’m going to fetch Solas,” Cassandra finally says, and takes her leave, leaving Krem kneeling alone with Evelyn in the dirt. Evelyn is still laughing despite the blood dripping from her face, and Krem doesn’t know what to do or say or even how to feel because she is on her knees and her face is pretty close to his.

“Um,” Krem says, starting again, fumbling for words, “If you aren’t going to tell me what happened, Inquisitor, can you at least tell me what’s so funny?”

Krem doesn’t know how the laughter isn’t hurting her, but he also knows that Evelyn is much tougher than she looks. Finally, she says, “I-” she starts, but is interrupted by a hiccup from the laughter combined with something vaguely like pain, “I was p-practicing my hic new magic, and I…” Evelyn looks like she’s going to dissolve into hiccupping peals of laughter again. “I stonefisted myself _in the face._ ”

Evelyn keeps a straight face for about ten seconds as Krem looks at her in slack-jawed disbelief, and her face cracks again into giggles that become full-grown chortles that are more infectious than Krem would have thought possible. Krem’s chest produces what he can only describe as a relieved chuckle and before he knows it he and Evelyn are laughing like fools in the dirt outside the tavern, waiting for Cassandra to return with Solas.

She’s not hurt, not really; a broken nose isn’t exactly serious. Cassandra must be struggling to find Solas, because the rotunda where he can usually be found isn’t really that far. Evelyn’s gotten off her knees and is sitting up in the dirt next to Krem now, and she feathers her fingers underneath the broken cartilage. When her fingers come away with blood all over them, Evelyn’s eyes shoot up into her hairline.

“Wow,” Evelyn says, seemingly entranced by the sight, the unbidden tears finally starting to dissolve. “It didn’t actually feel that bad after the initial crunch of pain. That’s a lot of blood.”

They’re so close that if Krem moved forward a couple inches he could kiss her. Maker help him. Krem watches her as she stares at her own fingers, and he sighs dramatically. “A shame. I only liked you for your nose.”

Solas finally shows up with Cassandra leading him to them, and he looks sternly at Krem when he sees Evelyn laughing so hard that she snorts, winces at the pain for a too-long second, and then begins laughing again.

“I’m not sure I can stop it from scarring, Inquisitor. I’m truly sorry.” For what it’s worth, Solas really does sound apologetic. Evelyn shakes her head, a soft smile on her face, directing it at Solas and then Cassandra and then settling on Krem’s sympathetic face.

“That’s okay. I was kind of getting tired of being the only person I know who’s never had a broken nose.”

Solas chuckles (actually chuckles) a little bit at that, Krem doesn’t know what to do but mirror her head-shaking, and Cassandra actually gives Evelyn a smile that Krem doesn’t think anyone is supposed to see.

* * *

 

Sera has scoped out a room in Skyhold’s basement that she claims is ideal for their dancing venture. Krem isn’t sure he believes it, but he tentatively trusts Dorian and doesn’t believe that Sera would do anything willfully malicious, so he’ll go along with it. He loves the Chargers, Krem really does, but at some point they became more brothers and sisters than friends, and somehow, Dorian and Sera have made him feel something perilously close to friendship.

Dorian in particular seems thankful to have someone who understands his random bursts of Tevene profanity that seem to come about all too often. Sera appears to be glad to just be flitting in and out around him, laughing and poking fun at anyone who’s too sure of themselves.

Before their surely enlightening dance lesson, though, Josephine has managed to wrangle Dorian and Sera into her office. Krem doesn’t particularly want to be on Josephine’s bad side – she’s smart and cunning (and Krem is all too willing to admit she is also beautiful), so Krem willingly ducks in after the three of them.

In Josephine’s office, Krem finds Josephine trying to convince Sera to take the chair closest to her desk. Dorian finds his own seat, and, Krem is surprised to find, Vivienne and Leliana are already seated.

“In light of the Inquisitor’s recent… changes to her entourage for our excursion to the Winter Palace, I decided that a briefing of sorts was in order,” Josephine says, sitting primly at her desk.

“Wait…” Sera says, “You lot didn’t tell her Inquisitorialness about this, did you? She’d at least be here to play with my hair while you told me all the ways I’m not allowed to have fun.”

It’s a testament to Josephine’s exquisitely crafted civility that her tone doesn’t even change. “I simply wanted to give a brief… well, briefing, of how the ball is going to be organized.”

Krem hasn’t sat. He opts instead to lean against the back of Sera’s chair. She can’t sit still, both legs bouncing up and down uncomfortably, and Krem hopes for both Josephine and Sera’s sakes that this lecture doesn’t take too long.

“The ball lasts four days,” Josephine says, holding up four fingers for emphasis. “It will take the better part of three days for the trip there, and then the same to get back, so we will be away from Skyhold for roughly ten days-”

Josephine rattles off logistics. They will wear the Inquisition formal uniform the first and last days of the ball, so they are unified in entrance and exit, but general formalwear will suffice for the two days in between. Vivienne will be attending with them despite her absence from Evelyn’s handpicked companions due to her exceptional knowledge of the Game, and she will serve in a position similar to the Inquisition’s advisors, all of whom will also be present.

Josephine pauses for a brief moment, and Krem speaks before he can stop himself. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I do hope you’ve heard what transpired this morning, Lady Ambassador?”

Leliana makes a noise that sounds like a cough but Krem suspects is a poorly disguised laugh. Josephine looks at Leliana almost sharply before addressing Krem. “Pardon me?”

“The Inquisitor,” Krem pauses, fishing for a way to say it delicately. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what way to best tell you that the Inquisitor accidentally pulled a fist made of stone from the ground and broke her own nose with it.”

Josephine gasps, uncharacteristically taken off guard. “Is she alright? It’s been healed, I’m sure?”

Krem shrugs. “Solas was in the process of healing her but I haven’t seen the final product, per se.”

“Another blow,” Josephine says, just a little under her breath, “I thought at least we would have a flawless-looking figurehead, but if it’s as serious as you make it sound, I’m sure that it wasn’t a clean break.”

When they finally break free from Josephine’s clutches, the ambassador has managed to work herself into a near-hysterical state. It seems a dramatic response to something so minor as a broken nose, but Krem knows at least in theory how important appearances are to Orlesians. Evelyn’s bringing two Tevinters and Sera, and now she’s not a hundred percent the beautiful Free Marcher noble that the Inquisition has been flouting to every pampered ear that will listen.

He’d been enamored of Evelyn’s perfect nose himself. Krem wonders what she’ll look like post-healing.

He, Dorian, and Sera slip away, down to what feels suspiciously like what could be a dungeon, though Sera insists otherwise.

“Not enough bars and too much light!” she says, though Krem can’t shake the feeling.

Dorian counts the beat while Krem dances with Sera, which is less of a wreck than it sounds. Sera has very little rhythm, but there’s a grace to her that Krem would almost call elven, though never to her face. Conversely, Krem’s got decent rhythm, but he’s all brute force with no intuition. Together, they are terrible, and Dorian makes sure they know it at every turn possible.

“Look,” Sera says, complaining the whole time, “No one up there is going to be interested with dancing someone as down here as me. I don’t see the point, and the only point any of them might be seeing’s an end of one of my arrows.”

She’s as charming as ever, and is kind enough to punch his collarbone when he steps on her foot by accident. The next time, he does it on purpose, and he steps harder. Sera gives him a look that can only be described as dry.

“Don’t step on your pretty lady’s feet. She might set your hair on fire.”

Sera’s never been easy around mages, but Krem thinks Dorian and Evelyn must be people to her first, because she’s much more normal around them than she is around Madame de Fer. Truth be told, Vivienne has that effect on everyone, but magic makes Sera uncomfortable in a way that apparently nothing else does.

He and Sera spin when they can and bicker with one another when they can’t quite figure it out. Dorian steps in every now and then to nitpick about form, or tease Sera about her unruly hair, but in some ways dancing is more exhausting to Krem than even the more bloodthirsty of battles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of lightheartedness! next chapter we're on our way to the winter palace! xx  
> thanks so much for reading folks! stay tuned!


	13. we're only flying for awhile

Josephine’s offhand comment during their briefing doesn’t click for Krem until sometime later, as the Inquisition is loading caravans for their excursion to Halamshiral. The entire party will wear Inquisition red on the first and last days of the ball, but general formalwear will suffice for the days in between. When Krem brings it up to Dorian, Dorian says, “After the struggle involving our fitting, I was told by the Inquisitor that the terms have changed. To the Lady Montilyet’s chagrin, the Inquisitor lobbied successfully to spare us all the tackiness of Orlesian formalwear. Only the Inquisitor herself, as our unwilling figurehead, will be subject to anything other than our dreadful shade of red.”

Evelyn, their spitfire of a mage, in a dress, dolled up for the Orlesian masses? Krem’s more conflicted than he wants to let on to Dorian, but Maker, he knows she’ll be beautiful. It’s already difficult enough not to ask permission to kiss her, grab her hand in solidarity whenever someone opposes her. Krem still isn’t completely positive that Evelyn believes that she’s the Herald of Andraste; Bull has said multiple times that her family is pious almost to a fault, but every time Evelyn speaks of her family other than Katrina, it seems bittersweet. There’s also the issue of whether or not the Inquisition is prophetic or heretical, and Evelyn’s always seemed a bit skeptical in all avenues.

It doesn’t matter if she believes she’s the Herald or not, not to Krem. He’ll be there to follow regardless.

There are carriages and there are horses, and had Krem no way of staying warm, he might have preferred a carriage. With Evelyn’s rune-lined cloak around his shoulders, though, Krem will take the horse.

As far as Krem knows, the Iron Bull hasn’t asked for any favors since joining the Inquisition, so there probably wasn’t much resistance when he requests a spot in the retinue attending the party at the Winter Palace. Even if there was, all Bull would have to do is ask Evelyn and Evelyn would grant his wish in a heartbeat, because she’s looking to make as much of a splash as possible at Halamshiral.

The Inquisitor is singlehandedly exhausting Josephine Montilyet’s sizeable reserves of patience, but at least she’s looking good while doing it. Krem has a good view of Evelyn from his spot next to Bull, and she’s got a smile as wide as all of Ferelden as she wheedles and bothers their ambassador. Krem can’t help the grin that tugs at his own mouth, and if he knows anything about Bull, it’s that Bull very likely already knows about his compromised emotional position regarding their Inquisitor.

True to form, Bull chuckles and smacks Krem on the back before saying lowly, “You want to know what they’re arguing about?”

“I wouldn’t say they’re arguing, but if you wanted to perceive it that way and tell me anyway, I wouldn’t complain,” Krem says, swinging around in the saddle to meet Bull’s eyes on his other side.

“Boss wants to be on horseback instead of in the carriage, and Lady Montilyet looked like she was about ready to jump ship back to Antiva.”

“How can you tell?” Krem asks before he can stop himself; he normally doesn’t want to know how Bull knows all the things he does.

“Lip reading, Krem. It’s a valuable life skill.”

Krem doesn’t know if that’s something Bull can really do or not, but he knows better than to ask more questions, so he just turns back to watch Evelyn put on a show. He catches just the end as Evelyn wraps her arms around Josephine and plants a warm, friendly kiss on the other woman’s cheek before practically skipping into the saddle of her mount.

Krem chuckles and murmurs, “She always manages to get her way.”

He doesn’t really mean for Bull to hear him, but Bull does, and chuckles in agreement. They both watch Evelyn take a spot in the procession, and someone at the front blows a horn that means that they are supposed to begin the journey to Halamshiral.

The trip is slated to take three days just to arrive at the Winter Palace, and that means three nights sleeping in tents. It’s an unavoidable evil, but that doesn’t stop everyone from lamenting it, and perhaps the most vocal of the dissenters to this turn of events is Dorian, who is complaining to Sera quite loudly despite the fact that they are no longer in Emprise du Lion, which is something Krem is greatly thankful for.

“Right, but I can’t believe you’ve had a bed all your life,” Sera says, and her voice carries on the wind that whips around them as a party. The cold doesn’t seem to bother her as badly when there’s no snow involved, but Dorian’s just as adversely affected by it here as he had been in the Emprise, and Krem’s not giving his cloak up this time. “People can learn a lot about themselves by sleeping in straw in a barn a few nights a week, like which way the wind is going so you don’t end up someplace that smells like shite.”

Krem laughs despite himself. The disparity in experience between Dorian and Sera is pronounced, but somehow they always wind up next to one another, the most unlikely of friends even in this Inquisition made up of outcasts and renegades as well as the pious and charitable. Evelyn rides up next to them and catches Dorian unaware, sending a shock into his hair that sends the carefully groomed mass into wild disarray. Dorian’s undignified gasp is enough to make Krem laugh, and he’d very much like to see what Evelyn could do with those sparks given a chance, but the three of them are laughing together now and he’ll push the thought from his mind for the moment.

They ride for hours, and Krem is for the most part thankful for it. He hasn’t had a chance to speak with Bull in a fair amount of time, and with the other Chargers left back at Skyhold, it’s more like they’re two friends that happen to be Tevinter and Qunari instead of the leader and right hand man of the strangest and most successful mercenary company within a few hundred miles. Still, when the horn blows at dusk in much the same way it had when they set off, Krem is thankful. Riding for a full day exhausts even the most battle-hardened, and Krem is ready to sit on ground that isn’t the bounciest thing on four legs.

Perhaps the best thing about Evelyn wholeheartedly siding with Fiona’s mages is that, with enough mages, a few of them are bound to be good at warding. From Krem’s understanding, it’s a highly nuanced, very specialized branch of magic in which it takes years to become even a competent practitioner, but one of the former senior enchanters was a foremost scholar in the field. To the delight of the Inquisition, when Belavahn was invited into the traveling party, it meant that watches would be rendered unnecessary, so it doesn’t make very much sense that Krem is roused from sleep before daybreak.

Camp is near silent when Krem falls asleep. He’d long since resolved to watch out for Evelyn, and she was one of the last to bed, up late comparing notes with a demure-looking mage who must have been around the same age as Evelyn herself. When Evelyn had finally retired for the evening, Krem found his way to his own bedroll. When he wakes again, the stars are still out and the sun hasn’t even begun to break the horizon. Krem sits up, the sound of a twig breaking outside stirring him from the warmth of his own makeshift nest. Wrapping his cloak around his shoulders, he crawls out into the brisk night air.

It’s dark, but there are sparks of light that he can see a little ways in the distance, and Krem would know those purple-white pinpoints anywhere. Evelyn is standing just by where the wards end, staring up at the sky and conjuring sparks just because it feels right, or at least that’s what it looks like to Krem.

He clears his throat as he gets close, hoping not to startle her. Evelyn’s hand clenches shut and the sparks stop as she whips around, and Krem is left wondering once again what happened in her Circle to elicit such a reaction. The tension in her body releases when she recognizes the figure approaching her, and Krem is gifted with one of her soft smiles.

“Good evening, sweetheart,” she says, in that voice that means she’s not the Herald or the Inquisitor, but Evelyn, the talented mage from the Free Marches who birdwatches and stonefisted herself in the face.

Krem can’t help but smile shamelessly in response. “Evie,” he says, acknowledging but not knowing what else to say.

“I was practicing my rift magic a little more, but I got distracted, and I was a little nervous that I was going to hurt myself in some way that Solas wouldn’t be able to heal me,” Evelyn says, not a little sheepishly, turning her face upwards again towards the stars.

“Did want to tell you that your nose isn’t quite as lovely as it used to be, but now it has character befitting someone in your position,” Krem says, and it must be the right thing to say, because Evelyn tosses her head back and laughs.

“Thank you. If that’s the case, then I guess Varric must have the most character out of everybody here.”

They chuckle together softly for a brief moment, and when silence falls between them, Krem asks, “Lady Montilyet would have a fit if she knew you weren’t resting. Couldn’t sleep?”

Evelyn’s face darkens, and Krem would almost regret his words if he wasn’t so curious. “There was…” Evelyn sighs, shaking her head before laughing derisively. “It’s amazing, thinking I can even talk to you about this.”

Krem cocks his head to the side, because there’s obviously something he isn’t understanding. Evelyn slides to the ground almost elegantly, and pats the dirt beside her. Krem sits.

“This is a bit of a long story, so you’ll have to bear with me,” Evelyn says, and she sounds almost sheepish to Krem. When his only response is to make eye contact and wait, Evelyn continues. “When I was young – maybe eleven, certainly still new to the Circle – there was an apprentice a bit older than me who I looked up to. I think she was thirteen.”

Evelyn pauses and looks at anything but Krem’s face, finally settling on the sky itself. “All mages have Fade dreams. I don’t know how much you know about them, but all mages have the dreams, and sometimes they’re worse than others. This mage, she was still just a girl, but she seemed older to me. I had just found out about my magic, after all, and I saw her as a little bit of a mentor.”

Her eyes drag back to Krem’s, and there’s hurt there. “She had a strong affinity for healing, this mage, and she confided in one of the templars that she’d had a confrontation with a sloth demon in a dream. The templar, who she’d come to asking for guidance and advice-” Evelyn’s voice catches, and she leans her hands back into the ground for stability. When one of those hands finds one of Krem’s, Evelyn doesn’t move it away.

“The templar made her Tranquil,” Evelyn says, spitting the word in disgust. “He said she was at risk of becoming an abomination, and they made my only friend in the Circle Tranquil.”

“Evie…” Krem says, and he wants to squeeze her hand, but he’s worried that if he does she’ll realize the position that they’re in and pull away.

“I had a bad dream,” Evelyn says, “but it was a bad mage dream, and I was too scared to go back to sleep. All I can ever think about is all that’s between me and Tranquility is telling the wrong person that a terror demon profoundly affected the Herald of Andraste.”

In a briefly tactless moment, Krem says, “And a Tevinter merc isn’t the wrong person?”

“Krem,” Evelyn says, and when she says his name Krem’s heart jumps into his throat. “You could never be the wrong person, sweetheart.”

She’s looking in his eyes and he could kiss her. It would be so easy, and she’s called him sweetheart enough times that Krem thinks he could even make an argument for it being a reasonable action.

Instead, he says, “I wasn’t born Cremisius.” Evelyn tilts her head to the side, intently listening. “My name was Cremisia, and I really loved pretending to shave with my father.” Krem chances a glance at Evelyn but her face is blank, still listening. “The Tevinter military is highly segregated, so when I joined after the, erm, falling out with my mother regarding my father’s fall in status, I became Cremisius, and, well, Krem seemed not too far a leap, and it’s a name that I feel is more me than both my other names combined.”

Evelyn doesn’t say anything, but when she drops his hand, Krem’s heart sinks. His eyes flutter shut, and Krem makes ready for what can only be described as an uncomfortable walk back to his tent, the cloak Evelyn gave him hanging heavy on his shoulders.

When he turns his face to make a getaway, he feels soft fingers curve around his cheek. They guide his face back to Evelyn’s, and when he opens his eyes, Krem very suddenly feels like he’ll never be able to breathe again. The lightning is there in her touch, and she is the Maker’s Chosen, the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, and he is the son of a tailor who fights wars for coin, but Evelyn smiles just ever so softly at him.

She turns his face with her hand, and her lips land softly on his cheek, contact that Krem will cherish until the Maker strikes him dead. Evelyn looks nearly wistful when she pulls away, stroking his cheekbone gently with her thumb, and Krem wants desperately to mirror her, take her face in his hands and draw her lips to his own. Instead, she stands, and for a brief moment Krem thinks that Evelyn is going to leave without saying anything else.

“Krem,” Evelyn starts, shakes her head, and starts over. “Sweetheart,” she tries again, and Krem’s heart sings. “You can be anyone you want to be, and still be one of the most valuable assets in the Inquisition’s roster.” It’s practical, but not unexpected, though chilly when Krem juxtaposes it with her kissing his cheek so sweetly. “And between you and me, sweetheart,” Evelyn says, “as long as you’re willing to be by my side, I’ll have you.”

“Evie,” Krem says, and there are a lot of things he wants to say, but he settles on, “I’m here if the demons get too big for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for reading this story. i appreciate it so much. i do hope that i'm handling everything in a manner that's not unsatisfactory, and if anything is offensive or uncomfortable, i would really love to hear it because i desperately want this to be the story that krem and everyone reading deserves xx


	14. it's okay

After speaking to Evelyn, Krem can’t sleep for the rest of the night. The soul-baring has left him raw, worried that she will treat him differently for it.

It is different, Krem finds, but not in a bad way. The next morning, after his horse is saddled and ready for the journey, Evelyn rides up next to Krem conspicuously, blithely even, like she’s making a show out of the fact that she still enjoys his company despite everything she knows about him. Krem thinks it’s likely that the only person who notices is Bull, but somehow that makes the display all the more satisfying, because the show she creates is for him.

Evelyn is going out of her way to put his mind at ease and it is like being shot full of sunshine and bursting at the seams with it. With that feeling alone, Krem feels like he could take on all of Orlais singlehandedly, and when Evelyn finally leaves his side, it is only because they are just approaching Halamshiral itself.

The courtyard is beautiful, and Krem knows better, but he’s a little starstruck.

The minute Evelyn’s feet hit the ground from the carriage that Josephine has required her to ride in once they are within view of the Winter Palace, Krem thinks he can hear all of Orlais begin chattering, and in that moment alone, Krem gets a glimpse of how it must feel to be a mage in this place that hates the woman he’s falling for simply for the magic that runs through her veins.

“They hate me,” Evelyn had whispered to him that last day when they rode side-by-side on horseback to Halamshiral. “Even if they don’t know it, they hate me. I’m a Free Marcher and a mage and half of Thedas sees the Inquisition as a threat anyhow. I am everything other they hate.”

“Well,” Krem says, with the sigh that always seems to precede some self-deprecating remark, “At least you aren’t Tevinter.”

Evelyn laughs her musical laugh that sends electricity down Krem’s spine. “No,” she says, shaking her head, wild hair untamed, “I’m just the kind of Free Marcher mage Inquisitor that would gladly spend every moment of her free time in the company of a Tevinter.”

She can’t possibly know what she does to him, Krem thinks, even as the blush comes crawling up his neck. He’s thankful that he’s darker-complected, that it isn’t so noticeable, and he says, “Come now, if you’re going to talk about Dorian that way, at least make sure he can hear you. It’s no fun gossiping without any risk.”

They introduce Evelyn as, “the Herald of Andraste and Inquisitor, Lady Evelyn of House Trevelyan of the Free Marches.” She seems so much further away than she had when Evelyn had kissed Krem’s cheek when they attach all the titles to her. When she’s standing there, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen forming her entourage as they wait patiently in front of the entrance, Krem is so swept away that he almost doesn’t notice that it’s his turn to cross the ballroom.

“Cremisius Aclassi of Tevinter, Lieutenant of the Bull’s Chargers.”

He had known his introduction would be underwhelming, but it feels particularly so after, “Cullen Stanton Rutherford, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, Commander of the Inquisition.” Dorian’s follows next, and Krem nearly falls asleep halfway through.

Still, Sera brings up the rear as, “Mai Balzich,” so Krem at least isn’t the least qualified.

For the fact that Inquisition is more or less a merry band of misfits (never mind incredibly skilled misfits), they cut a fairly imposing figure, standing together in front of the Empress of Orlais all dressed in the red uniforms Josephine had fretted over for hours. Krem stands between Sera and Dorian, with Vivienne on Dorian’s other side, while Evelyn and her advisors stand in front of them in a matching line.

“On behalf of all Orlais,” Celene says, with a flourish that is just so Orlesian that Krem has to stifle a chuckle, “I would like to welcome you to the Winter Palace.”

“The Inquisition hopes that one day it will be able to return your hospitality, Empress,” Evelyn says, with all the etiquette of someone who was raised far more politely than she lives.

The Empress dismisses them, and as they disperse, Dorian whispers to Krem in Tevene, “Not all dragons have claws. Don’t let them sink their teeth into you.”

“Likewise,” Krem answers in turn, thankful for the relative secrecy that their native language affords them. As an afterthought, he says, “Look after Sera.”

At the mention of her name, Sera whips around to face the two of them. “What about me now?”

Dorian, suave as ever, says, “He was just expressing that the three of us need to look out for one another.”

“Only trouble I’m gonna get into is the trouble me or our Inquisitorialness stir up ourselves,” Sera says, and in a way, Krem thinks he’s probably worried for her for nothing. Sera’s been navigating spaces where no one wanted her for years. She’ll be fine.

Still, he cares about her, the almost-sister he’d never known he wanted. He’ll keep an eye on her, and both of them if he can spare the other eye, and Krem trusts Dorian to do the same.

The absurdity of the situation strikes him; he’s asked an altus to watch over an elven Red Jenny at the Winter Palace. Krem being at the Winter Palace is absurd enough on its own without that additional thought, so he’ll file it away for some time later when he’s three mugs of beer deep and safely in the tavern at Skyhold.

“Spread out,” Leliana says in her Nightingale voice, the one no one dares question, “and if you hear anything useful or juicy or remotely interesting, report back to me at the least inconspicuous moment possible.”

He and Dorian and Sera follow orders, though Sera complains about not being able to keep an eye on Evelyn from where Leliana wants her stationed. Krem’s lucky enough to be at the top of a set of stairs, overlooking most of the ballroom with only a couple of blind spots.

Only the highest of nobility are invited to the first dance of the evening, and as one of the star guests, Evelyn’s presence is required. He entertains small talk with as interested a smile as he can manage while Evelyn spins with some member of the Orlesian nobility. The man hides behind a mask, silver and gold and hiding every part of his face that Krem would generally use to analyze his intentions, but Evelyn is laughing, and Krem’s not jealous, so he looks away.

There’s a young woman talking to him; she’s perhaps seventeen, eighteen at the most, young enough to be interested instead of scandalized at Krem’s clearly Tevinter complexion and name. Krem doesn’t know where to look when she speaks because of the mask; eye contact is generally the polite way to conduct these things, but when one party’s eyes are obscured, it complicates things.

“Is Tevinter much different from here in the south?” the girl asks; Krem thinks she introduced herself, but he was wrapped up in watching Evelyn. She even seems to be asking genuinely, though if Josephine’s taught them anything, it’s that no one attending is new to the Game. What was her name? Isabelle?

Her accent’s thick, and the girl’s mouth makes it look like she must just be quite beautiful underneath her mask, and Krem manages, “Well, it’s quite a bit colder here.”

The girl laughs, and it jingles in the air, and Krem feels like that should make him feel warm inside, but it’s not Evelyn so he just can’t make himself care.

* * *

 

After her dance, Evelyn flits in and out of conversation like a butterfly, the kind of high-class skill that only someone who is noble-born would have learned as a child. Dorian possesses the same ability, although as a _Tevinter_ mage he is at an even more distinct disadvantage than Evelyn. Krem leans against the wall heavily, exhausted by the atmosphere more than anything, though thankful that the young woman has disappeared to the dance floor.

“Come here often?” Dorian asks, standing with a smirk and blocking Krem’s view of the floor.

“Every day I am more thankful that I was not born nobility,” Krem says, dodging the question skillfully.

“The Inquisitor will be coming to round us up shortly. She told me there was something suspicious in the guest wing, or maybe several somethings. I was too busy watching Cullen handle his situation hilariously ineptly.”

Krem flicks a glance over to where Cullen is standing, surrounded by admirers, and snorts, a little louder than he’d intended. No matter how poorly Krem thinks he is performing on this mission, he can at least take solace in the fact that Cullen is even more ill-equipped.

Krem can’t comprehend how these Orlesians are not falling at Evelyn’s feet. She is hotheaded and stubborn and her nose is no longer perfect and, well, she glows green, but Evelyn is also kind and fair and she can use her magic for so much more than destruction. Perhaps he has fallen victim to a kind of hero worship for her, but it’s difficult not to when she is so respectable as figurehead and person all at the same time.

“Come back to me, Krem. We need you here,” Dorian snaps his fingers in front of Krem’s face, and Krem scowls.

“Gentlemen,” Evelyn says, falling to a curtsy in what would feel like a mockery in any other environment, “I could use your help with something. Care to join me?”

Dorian winks at her, and Krem smiles, pulling himself off the wall to follow her, only for the three of them to be interrupted by a woman who looks like she’s probably been around since the First Blight. “Oh, Inquisitor, you didn’t introduce to your friends,” she says, and it’s a kind of underhanded threat; _introduce the Tevinter scum if you aren’t afraid to bring them with you here_.

“Oh, I didn’t?” Evelyn says, all smiles, looking benevolently at Dorian before her eyes rest on Krem briefly. She introduces him as, “Cremisius Aclassi,” before gesturing to Krem, and then doing the same for Dorian in turn.

“How did you meet these two gentlemen?” the woman asks, and there’s poison in her mouth that Krem can’t quite place but that he knows is there instinctively.

“Why, they’re my tutors in Tevene, of course, on top of being formidable allies in a fight,” Evelyn says, “History is so important to my family, you know, and we place a lot of pride in where we come from. Our line can be traced all the way back to Nevarra and Tevinter as well, so I’ve taken an interest in learning to speak the tongue.”

“Oh?” There’s skepticism there, and Krem hopes Evelyn sees it. “So what is, say, an informal greeting?”

“Of course,” Evelyn says graciously, “ _Vishante kaffas.”_ Evelyn procures the Tevinter swear with such grace that if Krem didn’t know better, he would never even consider her words a lie.

Instead, Krem’s eyes bulge, and it looks like it takes everything in Dorian’s considerable arsenal not to break out in tears. Instead, Dorian manages, “Our Inquisitor is so incredibly gifted in all she does. Languages are no different.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, Madame, we must be going. Our dear ambassador has something she wished to discuss,” Evelyn says, and Dorian and Krem stay tight on her heels until they are out of earshot of the woman.

“Where did you _learn_ to say _vishante kaffas?_ ” Krem asks incredulously, and Evelyn giggles, sneaking a glance at Dorian. Krem deadpans. “Of course.”

“I do hope she begins greeting all her friends with it. What a delight it’ll be when she comes across a traveling magister,” Evelyn says, with that mischievous sparkle in her eye that is almost characteristic.

When they come to the room where Leliana has had her people stash their armor, Evelyn says, “Suit up, gentlemen,” with a wink that is downright divine. “We have work to do.” Sera leans up against a wall as their lookout, already in the armor that compliments her bow best, and Evelyn is in some of that thin mage armor that makes Krem worry a single stray arrow might prove fatal.

Sure, they’re here for the ball, but they might as well do what they’re good at while they’re here. If it takes a little snooping to get Celene out of the hole she’s dug herself, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this took ages lmao  
> battlemastershepard.tumblr.com xx


	15. we go down together

Krem wakes before he’s due on the second day of the masquerade, and he can’t fall asleep. There are servants already skittering through the halls even though the sun isn’t up, and they’re quiet, but Krem has been sensitive to sound for as long as he can remember.

He slides out of bed. Krem had assumed that he would have been sharing a room with someone (likely Dorian, by virtue of their similar roles in the Inquisition’s ranks), but when one of the servants escorted him to his quarters the night previous, it had been a pleasant surprise. It’s not near Evelyn’s room, but it’s a small comfort that she’s probably near Leliana, who, to Krem, is the most intimidating of all the Inquisition’s lot.

Once Krem’s feet hit the floor, he’s awake for the day. Years of military training and then the unpredictability of traveling with the Bull’s Chargers have made it a necessary evil.

The elf servants are quiet, but not silent, and with the sun barely cracking the horizon, their discretion is laxer. Their footsteps are light, and then there are none until they reappear again a few moments later. It sounds like one person walking, fleet-footed, and then another, heavier. Maybe a human?

Krem opens the door from his room, sufficiently dressed. When he does so, he doesn’t expect to see Evelyn following an elf down the hall.

“Inquisitor?” Krem asks in disbelief. Both Evelyn and her elven guide spin to face him, the elf in absolute horror.

“He’s alright,” Evelyn says, so quickly that Krem’s sure she doesn’t even have to think about it. The elf sputters.

“He’s _Tevinter,_ ” the elf says in hushed tones, but it’s more fear than disgust. It makes sense; besides being a magocracy, Tevinter is next-best known as an empire built on slavery. Krem can’t blame the slight elf. He’d been pretty close to enslaved himself, without the centuries of baggage that comes from having pointed ears and different gods.

“Your Briala wanted the help of the Inquisition,” Evelyn says, “Krem is as close to a right hand as I have.”

The elf chews on her lip in turmoil before grimacing and continuing forward. Evelyn doesn’t spare Krem another backwards glance, simply expecting him to follow. He wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.

It’s a testament to how comfortably familiar he is with Evelyn and how much he trusts her that Krem says, “When I thought about waking up to you, this isn’t quite how I imagined it.”

Every flirtatious remark feels like a risk, but he hasn’t had one off the mark yet. It’s not like Evelyn returns his feelings, but she certainly doesn’t spurn his advances, and this time is no different. She doesn’t answer him, but she throws her head back and barks out a laugh, earning a scolding glance from the elf leading them. Evelyn smiles at her sheepishly.

“It would be a veritable crisis if an Orlesian noble found the Inquisitor in this company,” Evelyn says, with the snootiness she always tries on when playing nobility.

Krem snorts, near silent. “Well, all you have left is your reputation, Evie.”

“A chance to ruin it with you and I might just throw it all away,” Evelyn says with a wink, and Krem thinks he might melt until the elf servant swings a door open and hurries them both inside.

“I said the Inquisitor alone, Shiathra,” says the elf that Krem assumes must be Briala, haughty posture and dramatic mask taken into account.

“I-I’m sorry. The Inquisitor insisted that he come with.”

Briala scowls, but doesn’t say anything before dismissing their guide. “Briala,” Evelyn says in greeting, nodding her head.

“Inquisitor,” Briala says, mimicking the gesture before turning to Krem, “and Cremisius Aclassi, Lieutenant of the Bull’s Chargers. It seems the whispers of your closeness are true.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrow like they always do at any perceived threat. “Krem is the most trusted of my inner circle. If that complicates things, he and I will leave at once.”

Krem feels naked without a sword at his side, but Evelyn is more than deadly enough, staff or no, to take on Briala. He truly believes that the only way Briala would pose even a threat is if she were also a mage, and the way she wears a dagger at her side leads Krem to believe that that is not the case at all.

* * *

 

Briala tells them that she would be indebted to the Inquisition in the event that they deposed Celene and snuffed Gaspard. Evelyn is diplomatic without committing, and Krem stands silently, stoically, by her side.

Meeting with Briala in the morning is the highlight of the day, by far. Having rid the palace of many a harlequin goon the day before, the second day of the ball is much more relaxed, though the more that Evelyn and Leliana snoop, the more convoluted the context becomes.

Krem had been worried about the “general formalwear” that Josephine had declared as dress code for the second and third days of the ball, but the fear was needless with someone like Dorian in his corner.

Explaining that he simply planned on filching something suitably Orlesian from Josephine’s stores, Dorian had actually gasped.

“How do you _ever_ plan on wooing our Inquisitor if you’re dressed like some _Orlesian_?” Dorian had asked, and Krem had rolled his eyes.

“ _Wooing_ the _Inquisitor_ ,” Krem had answered, like the idea didn’t stir a dragon in his stomach. “She’s got much bigger things on her mind.”

Nonetheless, Dorian tugs at him and tugs at him until finally Krem gives in, acting like it bothers him that he has a friend outside the Chargers that cares at all. When all is said and done, he’s in a dark blue outfit that’s got gold buttons in a few too many places, but it’s not so Tevinter that Krem feels like he needs to start drawing people’s blood.

Krem is a fool, though. When Evelyn wears a positively lovely get-up on the second night of the ball, he (a fool) assumed that she would be wearing the same thing the next night, like he himself is. He doesn’t see much of Evelyn, really, until they make it to the ballroom itself anyway. She’s busy poking around corners with Sera, who is really the best suited to flitting about undetected of the entire Inquisition.

He doesn’t feel neglected or anything, doesn’t think twice when he looks to his left and sees her laughing with Cullen, who is most overwhelmed of everyone in the entourage.

No, it’s much easier to focus on the fact that she is certainly not wearing what she was the previous evening.

She’d been beautiful on the second night of the ball, in a light blue very much in line with Orlesian fashion. She’s beautiful every day, even when her nose is bleeding and she’s sitting on the ground covered in dirt.

Evelyn is radiant. The color she’s dressed in flirts with sandy, and it’s full-length, touching the floor in ripples, hugging her figure before billowing out at the hips like the fashion goes. Her dark hair is up, save a few escaped strands that Krem could see hanging over the back of her neck.

 _You could ask her to dance_ , Krem thinks, and his mouth goes dry at even the thought, never mind that Josephine would break into hives the second his hand got so near Evelyn.

When Evelyn finally turns away from Cullen, her eyes light on Krem, who offers her a soft smile. She returns it, teeth brilliant under the lamplight, and she seems to be making her way to him but is intercepted by Florianne, a woman whose name has come up in too much of the rumormongering to be considered innocent.

Evelyn purses her lips almost seductively at whatever Florianne has to say, and Krem isn’t quite forgotten, but Evelyn turns to the dancefloor with the Grand Duchess. Locking eyes with Krem on her way down the stairs, Evelyn winks, and Krem, once again, can’t believe that he’d even toyed with the idea of a dance with someone like Evelyn.

Evelyn and Florianne dance in that atrocious way that Orlesians do, but when Krem drops his gaze for even a moment, Evelyn disappears.

Krem eyes the floor frantically, but the worry is irrational; the ballroom is busy, and there’s no telling where she could have disappeared to, but there are any number of perfectly safe places.

The worst thing about the Iron Bull is that, despite how big he is, he gets around quite stealthily, and Krem barely notices him until he is right by Krem’s side.

“You and I both know that the Inquisitor is more than capable of taking care of herself,” Bull says, quietly – the din of the ballroom is loud, but there are more ears here than just Leliana’s – “But she disappeared into the Royal Quarters with Sera, if it’s of any comfort to you.”

Krem raises an eyebrow and weighs his options before grinning at Bull and making his way towards the Royal Quarters himself.

When he flings the door open, Krem’s greeted with a broken window and a grinning Sera.

“Not to worry, Krem, Quizzy and I took care of everything.”

* * *

 

They took care of it, of course; Sera and Evelyn are nothing if not capable partners in crime, a Red Jenny and a noblewoman mage. What they didn’t mention was how much there was left to _do._ A Fade rift opens right there in the courtyard, but Evelyn manages to close it without so much as dirtying her battle armor. When Evelyn exposes the Grand Duchess to Celene, all righteous fury, Florianne is taken as prisoner of the Inquisition, all while Evelyn smiles benevolently at her in her beautiful dress.

Of course, the greatest show of all comes when their beautiful Evelyn manages to accuse warmongering Gaspard of treason and reunite Celene and Briala all in one fell swoop. “What about Briala’s reward?” Evelyn asks, scandalized that anyone would snub their elven ally so.

Krem thinks Briala and Celene might start kissing right then, and he offers them a gentle smile even as Dorian scoffed near-silently behind him.

“Orlais owes the Inquisition a great debt!” Celene says, Evelyn on her left side and Briala on her right, “And there is much fighting yet to be done, but for tonight? For tonight, we celebrate. Two traitors are gone from our midst, and we have many more friends than those with whom we began the ball.”

A raucous cheer that is _quite_ unbefitting Orlesian nobility rises, and Evelyn smiles down on the crowd before immediately disappearing. Krem’s good mood falters. There can’t possibly be more evil that they have to contend with tonight.

The terrace he emerges onto holds her and her alone, arms resting on the railing and looking out over the courtyard. She doesn’t notice him at all, or at least makes no motion that she does, tracing circles with her left hand.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard,” Krem says, starting quietly in order to not scare her, “But there’s a party in there, and it’s literally all about you.”

“Me,” Evelyn says, scoffing lightly, “It’s not like I did it all on my own. Besides, I’m tired. Orlais can save itself for the rest of the night.”

Krem’s eyes widen; this isn’t like the Evelyns he’s grown used to, and he says, “Would you like some time alone?”

“No!” she says, and it’s sharp. “I could use the company.

The air quiets around them, the only sound the muffled rumblings of the ballroom. “Balls are a waste of time,” Evelyn says, “All posturing and nonsense.”

“They’re not a _total_ waste of time,” Krem says, and what he’s about to say is improper, but he’s already committed to it, so the words are coming out regardless. “After all, I got to see you in that dress.”

“There’s a lewd joke about seeing me _out_ of this dress that Sera would appreciate, but I don’t know how to make it without coming off as vulgar.”

The idea makes his mouth go dry, and Evelyn either doesn’t know or doesn’t care, because she doesn’t even look his way. Krem doesn’t know how to respond, so he deflects. “You know, I was planning to ask you to dance, but Florianne beat me to it.”

“Is that so?” Evelyn asks, quietly. “I would have enjoyed your dance infinitely more.”

Her words linger, but eventually fade into the night. It seems to be years before Krem finally finds his tongue again. “Well,” he begins lamely before pushing off the railing that they’ve both been leaning against. “May I have this dance, Lady Trevelyan?”

Krem hopes he’s not being too sincere, because too often their back-and-forth falls into familiar banter. At this point, though, he’s in far too deep, and Krem falls into a low bow and offers his hand, not daring to look up at her face for fear of rejection. This woman, who never blinked twice at his Tevinter name, who heard his story with an open heart, rejecting him now?

Eternities pass, and she doesn’t touch his hand. There’s a cold wind that whistles between his fingers, one he can even feel through the gloves he’s wearing, and Krem’s eyes shut in defeat briefly before he glances back up at his beautiful, exhausted, foolhardy, and stubborn Inquisitor.

Evelyn is staring at his hand, and her face is bright red. “Are you sure?”

Krem tilts his head to the side. “Evie…” he says, his voice breathy, trying not to betray how fast his heart is beating. “It’s just a dance.”

“Just a dance…” Evelyn says, more to herself than to Krem, he thinks, and slowly, ever so slowly, her hand touches his.

Krem stands and pulls her close to him – not too close, but as close as is appropriate for whatever they are. What are they, anyway? Better than friends, at least, because friends don’t dance so close that they can feel the heat coming off of one another. Still, that could always just be her mage blood singing, running warmer than his own.

She’s tense, though, and it’s not like how he imagined, all rose petals and sweeping her off her feet. The dance is stilted, like Evelyn thinks she wants to be here but something is holding her back.

“Am I such a terrible dancer?”

Evelyn laughs, quietly, looking down and causing her hair to fall into her face. “Would you believe that this is the first time that I’ve ever been allowed to dance with someone of my choosing? When I was little it was all young boys that I could possibly be betrothed to.”

“Well, we don’t have to dance-”

“No!” Evelyn interjects with a start, and lightning crackles, just enough that he can feel it through the layers between their hands. “No,” she says again, “I just haven’t danced for enjoyment, well, ever.”

“Why did the potential suitors stop coming? Was it your magic?” Krem asks, and it comes out blunter than he means it to, but no Tevinter in their right mind would turn down someone as well-bred as Evelyn who was _magic_ too. It’s just too foreign, and he can’t understand it, how they’d lock her away instead of encourage her.

Evelyn smiles, seeming to come back to herself a little. “I was always a wretched little thing, Krem. Fade dreams just sealed the deal.”

She’s close to him, and it’s different than when they’d ridden on horseback with one another. Evelyn has relaxed, but not entirely, and it’s strange because anyone should feel nervous it should absolutely be him.

“What’s on your mind?” Krem asks, trying not to notice as they drift further and further in towards one another.

Evelyn sighs, and Krem doesn’t think he’s imagining a flicker of fear in her eyes. “A lot of things,” she begins, swallowing hard before continuing, “This dress makes me feel more exposed than if I were naked, and I have no idea what the long-term implications of our actions here are, and I can’t stop thinking about how Katrina would love you.”

They freeze there, her dress clinging to her body in all the right ways and her hair falling out of the immaculate updo it had been in when the evening began.

“Look, Krem,” Evelyn says, and she sounds exasperated with herself. “You’re very important to me, but I don’t exactly know as though I’m worthy of you when I feel like I’m disappointing the Maker with every breath I take. How could someone like you ever care about a mage?”

She says it all in one breath without stopping and then Evelyn looks in his eyes and Krem’s heart stops, because she punctuates it all with, “Sweetheart.”

“Evie,” Krem says, and he doesn’t know how he gets the word out, and he really isn’t sure how he turns it into a joke when he says, “Back where I come from, getting a mage to care about me would be nearly the highest honor imaginable.” Evelyn’s eyes turn watery, and they’re still frozen on this terrace attached to the ballroom where anyone could find them at any time, but Krem knows if he doesn’t take the leap now, he never will. “You outrank me in every way,” he says, “You are my Inquisitor, a noble of the Free Marches, and where I come from, your magic alone would have made you untouchable. And with all that in mind, Evie, I have to ask… Can I kiss you?”

The question’s barely out of his mouth before her lips are on his, softly, and it’s all too short when she pulls away, sparks crackling everywhere the kiss had been. When Evelyn pulls away, Krem pulls her back until they are no longer at a respectable distance at all. She’s in his arms, the Herald of Andraste, and she’s letting her hold him and Krem presses his lips to hers again. He tangles his fingers in the mess of her hair, and Krem feels her slender fingers around his bicep. The heat is altogether too much, in the air around them as well as between his legs, and Krem had already decided that he would be more than happy to die for Evelyn but when her eyelashes brush his cheek as they pull away from one another, Krem knows that it would be impossible to live without her.

They look at one another, flushed, a Tevinter merc and a Circle-mage turned Inquisitor, and Evelyn smiles gently, tracing his jawline with her index finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi yes it was ages i know i'm sorry i'm the worst  
> this is really long though for this story? and there was some payoff? hopefully that makes up for some of it? :D  
> my tumblr is [here](http://www.battlemastershepard.tumblr.com) if you'd like to scold me! xx


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